The Devil is the Camera
by hollister9
Summary: You can't choose who you fall for. No matter how young or old they may be. This is a Gary Oldman/Emma Watson story, a tale of their relationship told as if it were real life.
1. Authors Notes

**The Devil is the Camera**

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><p><em><strong>Authors Notes<strong>_

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><p>There is only a few things you must know before you start reading. This story, even though it says the 'SiriusHermione' category, is not entirely correct. This is a Gary Oldman/Emma Watson story, a tale of their relationship told as if it were real life. All the characters are **real people**. Every person mentioned – _every person_ – is real.

All the information such as dates of premieres, birthdays, release dates are real. All personal details mentioned about Gary and Em are also **real**. The only two things I have altered is Gary's age, (instead of being born in 1958, I made him younger, so he is now born in **1969**.) and the other thing being that in this story he has **no** children. He is however - like in real life, still married to Alexandra Edenborough. That being said however, the story itself is purely fictional, and my only intention is to make a point that there is nothing wrong with age difference in relationships, but rather the media that surrounds it, hence "The Devil is the Camera". I have no intention to offend anyone. If you are easily offended, simply do not read.

Anyway, I'm not sure if a story like this has ever been written before, but the idea came to me and I just knew I had to have a go at writing it. Age difference in relationships is something I feel very strong and passionate about. You can't choose who you fall for, no matter how old or young they may be. And this is the message I want to tell everyone who reads my story.

Enough of my rambling, I hope you enjoy and remember: _**tell me what you think! **_

Love,

_Hollister9_


	2. Prologue

Emma Watson was just an innocent, bubbly, classically British girl when she was told she had got the part of 'Hermione Granger' in the globally phenomenal Harry Potter films.

As a little girl, she grew up in Oxford, went to ballet lessons on Wednesdays and stage school on Saturdays, and played _'Sticky Toffee'_ and _'It'_ with her friends in the playground at school. Her favourite dinner was her mum's Sunday roast, and her favourite film was Notting Hill. She thought that Hugh Grant was as handsome as a man could be.

As little girl's tend to, Emma grew up. The days, years flew by in a blur of homework, sleepy car journeys to the Warner Bros Studios, laughing fits with Dan, Rupert and Bonnie, long chats with David Heyman about the meaning of life and cheeky drink breaks between shoots with the Phelps twins. They always had coffee. She always had tea. From the thousands of interviews, the numerous premieres and the eight films she had dedicated more than ten years of her life to, it was fair to say she had experienced every emotion possible: she had learnt new things, and met millions of wonderful people. She had been to places she had always wanted to go to, and visited countries that she never knew existed. She had been hectored with too many marriage proposals to know what to do with, and, most significantly, she had fallen helplessly and unconditionally in love…

With who? You may ask.

Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. It's what this story is about. The drama, tears and heartbreak that love brings. Love is blind and you can't choose who you fall for. You just…fall. And when you realise that you have, you're in too deep and you can't turn back. At twenty one and one of the most talented young actresses in the world as well as one of the most beautiful, Emma had to learn this the hard way.

If you're famous, the devil is _always_ the camera.

This is her story. We're going back to where it all started…


	3. 24th February 2003

**24th February 2003**

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><p>"Em! Em! <em>Em!<em>" someone was shouting.

Emma didn't turn around; she was concentrating her hardest on stirring her mug of hot chocolate without sloshing it over the sides like she usually did. Unlike Hermione, Emma could be incredibly clumsy at times. Not in the sense that she broke everything she touched, but in the way that she had a special knack for accidentally hurting herself in the safest of situations - like making hot chocolate for example. She always managed to burn herself one way or another.

"EMMA!" the voice called again, followed by heavy panting.

She plopped two mini marshmallows in the steaming mug before slowly lifting it.

"Yes?" she said, turning around to see who the voice belonged to. She had a feeling she knew who it was.

It was Dan – or Harry. He was called by his character name more than his real one these days. Well, by fans anyway. He was still wearing his costume from their shoot this morning, except the round rimmed glasses had gone and the scar had smudged. He was acting so excitedly that Emma couldn't help but smile.

"What's happened now?"

"What's happened now?" Dan repeated hysterically, "You won't believe this Em, Alfonso just told me… the new actors are here! They arrived an hour or two ago I think!"

"Really?" she asked, mirroring his wide grin, "who are they?"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook them.

"Only Gary _bloody _Oldman-!"

She let out a high pitched screech.

"-and David _flipping_ Thewlis! AND Michael _yes-you-heard-me_ Gambon!"

"_DAN!_"

"I know!" he exclaimed, "They're absolutely amazing aren't they-?"

"No, not that! _OUCH!_"

"What?" he asked, completely unaware he done anything wrong.

"My – hot – chocolate!" she gasped, evidently in pain.

Dan's eyes swivelled down to the mug that was now shattered on the floor and back up to Emma's wet, and burning red hand.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Em! I didn't mean to-"

"You know what I'm like," she sighed.

"Here, let me get that," a man said from behind them, indicating to the broken mug.

"Oh, thank you!" Dan said, tugging Emma to the side to allow the cleaner to clear up the mess.

"Let me see your hand," he asked her. She had wrapped it in the sleeve of her jumper so it wouldn't sting as much.

"No, I'll be fine. They call it hot chocolate for a reason though," she mumbled.

Dan grinned.

The man had gone off to dispose of the shards in the rubbish bin and returned to the twosome a minute later. Close up they realised that the man was _not_ a cleaner. He had black-brown dark floppy hair that fell in his eyes and a trimmed goatee. He wasn't wearing the cleaner's uniform, but to their utter bewilderment black slacks and a maroon _dressing gown_.

Dan breathed in sharply, and Emma found herself battling the giggles. Why was a random man that she had never seen before wearing a dressing gown in the common room of Warner Bros studios? He was the type of man her mother would have found very attractive. And if she was older, her too.

"Is your hand alright?" the man asked her.

"Not really," she replied, "but I'm used to it."

"Emma here has a unique quality of being able to hurt herself doing anything," Dan explained with a slightly shaky voice. Emma glanced sideways at him in confusion and looked back at the man.

He was smiling but didn't say anything. At a loss of what to do and wanting to break the silence, she nodded at him and said in her politest voice, "that's a lovely costume!"

Dan snapped his head to her, looking like he was about to bite her head off. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"This isn't a costume," the man said. "It's mine."

Emma pursed her lips closed, praying her cheeks weren't burning as red as her hand. She couldn't remember a time she had ever felt more awkward than she did now. She was about to nudge Dan in the ribs to help her out, but the man – thankfully – laughed. But what on earth could she say in response to that?

Alfonso Cuarón, their director, burst through the door and saved her from a potentially disastrous situation.

"Ah Emma, Dan, you've met Gary Oldman!" Alfonso cried, happily clapping his hands together, "He's been cast as Sirius Black. I'm sure I told you. And as you know – as everyone knows, he's a simply spectacular actor!"

"I knew it!" Dan muttered to himself. He was almost breathless with excitement.

Emma however, wished the ground would swallow her up right there and then. The man – Gary, only grinned broader at her and outstretched his hand.

"Simply divine to meet you Miss Watson."

"Likewise," she squeaked, hesitantly shaking his hand and thinking it was anything but divine.

So that was the first time she met Gary Oldman. Or _'the legend that is Gary Oldman'_ as Dan always used to say. She was only twelve, (soon to be thirteen in April) and he thirty three. They didn't talk much filming the _Prisoner of Azkaban_, partly because she still felt incredibly embarrassed. It didn't help that he still wore his dressing gown in the common room, even worse that he wore it in between takes. She remembered the time that he – Sirius – was helping Hermione get down from Buckbeak the hippogriff. Alfonso called cut and quick as a flash Gary shrugged the damn thing on, all the while catching her eye with the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

A smirk which told her he remembered the words she said to him as if it was yesterday.


	4. 7th February 2006

**7th February 2006**

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><p>Over 3 years later, Emma was up at six o'clock in the morning and being driven to the Leavesden Studios in Watford, London, by her chauffer Vinnie. You'd have thought that she'd be leaning against the window half asleep, but she was as wide-eyed and awake as she could be at the ridiculously early hour.<p>

It was the first day of filming for the Order of the Phoenix, and Emma – as usual on the first day back after the two month break – couldn't wait to get back on set and see all the cast and crew, whom over the years had become like her second family. She had missed them all terribly. It was when she burst through the double doors and was greeted to a chorus of happy hello's, hugs and indulging in a pointless, hilarious conversation with Dan and Rupert did she feel _truly_ at home.

"You've cut your hair Em!" Rupert said after about an hour after her arrival.

"Just realised Rupe? Tom noticed as soon as I came in!" she started laughing. "I can see you've had a haircut though. It was way, _way_ too long on the last film!"

Rupert grinned broadly and rolled his eyes. "You said that to me at the premiere. But c'mon, it wasn't that bad!"

"It was! _All_ of the boys needed it chopped, especially you. You were practically spitting it out of your mouth!" she exclaimed, swatting him playfully.

"_I_ wasn't!" Dan yelped defensively, "I thought my hair looked amazing actually."

He bat his eyelashes and pretended to flick long, imaginary hair over his shoulder.

The others laughed, Emma shaking her head as she did so.

"Bonnie!" she called across the room. "Bonnie!"

When she caught the Ginny actor and best girlfriend's attention she dramatically beckoned her over, shouting, "these two are saying that their hair looked amazing in the last film!"

Bonnie laughed loudly and jogged over to where they were lounging. A girl with white blonde hair followed her nervously.

"Yep, they were _awful_ boys," Bonnie added after another minute of giggling.

Dan and Rupert exchanged wearily amused looks. They always knew when the new film process had begun when the traditional game of teasing started. _Everyone_ on set and behind the scenes knew about the on-going game that occurred between the foursome. It was, and had always been, Dan and Rupert versus Emma and Bonnie. Since literally day _one_ of their Harry Potter journey.

To cut a long story short, the whole 'tease' came about when nine year old Emma watched Rupert's rapping audition videotape and, in absolute hysterics, spat out her orange juice everywhere. Then Bonnie started laughing and together the pair were uncontrollable for ten minutes. Rather than being embarrassed, Rupert saw it as a challenge – a competition if you like, to have one over on the girls. So, with Dan to help him, it had continued since then. Of course – it was only playful banter, possibly a hint of flirtatious teasing between close friends, but that's how they were. Always. To this very day.

Rupert shot Dan a sly wink, coding for _'we'll get them back!'_. Dan immediately understood and smirked knowingly. One way or another, they always did.

"You must be Evanna! You're playing Luna aren't you?" Emma squealed, jumping up and hugging her tightly.

"Yes I am," the girl replied, smiling in surprise and hugging her back, "but you can call me Evy."

Evy was so nervous her already pale complexion was as white as a sheet, and understandably so. She had just been hugged by Emma Watson and was standing metres away from Rupert Grint and Daniel Radcliffe. You'd have to search far and wide around the world for someone who didn't know who they were.

"Lovely to meet you. I'm Emma," Emma said kindly, and rather unnecessarily. "How are you finding your first day? Have you been shown around and everything? If you haven't, I'll show you - some the sets are really amazing-"

"Alright Em, let the girl breathe!" Dan chuckled.

He stood up and also hugged Evy, all the while gushing about how much he loved her accent.

"I mean it's really great, I love the Irish accent! I can actually understand what you're saying! Because sometimes with Devon – you know, he acts Seamus? – Yes him… well sometimes I don't have the faintest idea what he's going on about. Not in a rude way or anything, it's just his accent is quite strong-"

"Alright Dan, maybe _you_ should let the girl breathe!" Rupert said, snorting with laughter. He followed suite and hugged the newcomer. "Hi. I'm Rupert."

They walked over to introduce her to Tom Felton and the Phelps twins, but they were interrupted by the calling voice of David Yates, their new director. He was ordering the cast to collect their filming schedule and go straight on to hair and make-up, ready for the first shoot of the day.

Emma seized Bonnie and Evy by the hands and practically charged over to the crowd surrounding the centre of the common room, all collecting their schedules.

"I have the shoot outside, it's the carriages going to Hogwarts or something, but that's not till tomorrow," Evy said disappointedly, "have either of you got anything today?"

"Oh, I'm with you for that scene I think!" Emma grinned, "And today I have…" she scanned her finger over the paper, "Oh! Today I have the Grimmauld Place Kitchen scene…"

"Yes, I have that too," Bonnie nodded excitedly, "should be great shouldn't it? All the adult actors are in it!"

"Like who?" Emma asked her, "Mark and Julie? Yeah they are, they're Ginny's parents, if you're in it then they will be."

"Yes, I should think so. Oh I love my parents – I mean - _Ginny's_ parents! Wait till you meet them Evy, they are so funny – but that's not all - Brendan Gleeson, David Thewlis, Natalia Tena and Gary Oldman are in it too!"

But Emma had stopped listening. Out of nowhere, Tom Felton had come up behind her, picked her up and threw her easily over his shoulder in a fireman's carry then marched off.

"Tom! Put me down this instant! _TOM!_"

Her embarrassed begs to be put down faded the further she was carried away, but his laughter didn't. When they reached the hair and make-up rooms, he finally lowered her to the ground.

"I'm sorry Em, I saw the opportunity and I seized it. It was too good to miss," Tom said charmingly.

"Well I hope you savoured it because it won't be happening again!" she warned him, in a very Hermione like voice.

"Oh _really?_" he quizzed her, cocking his eyebrow and moving closer to her as if he was about to pick her up again.

"Really!"

"_Really?_"

"Yes, REALLY!"

"_Really_-_?_"

"You killed it," Emma smiled.

There was a second of silence before they fell about laughing at the immaturity of their conversation.

"Emma!" the voice of David Yates called, "you're due in hair and make-up now! Get in there please!"

Tom glanced at her. "Well, I guess I'll see you later then."

"Yeah," she nodded.

"That's – right – see you," he said hurriedly, unsure whether to hug her or not.

In the end he settled on a one armed hug that was briefer than a pat and walked off.

"Well that wasn't awkward!" came a voice from somewhere behind her. To her horror, it sounded very much like Rupert's. And he sounded thoroughly amused. Their tease game floated in her head, and she shut her eyes in mortification. They could _not_ get one over on her.

She spun around.

"Rupert Grint, don't you dare tell anyone-!" she began, but Rupert had already sprinted for the door and burst through it with frantic excitement.

"EMMA AND TOM HAVE GOT A LITTLE THING GOING ON!" he roared happily.

At least fifteen actors were already being tended to in the make-up chairs, and at the ginger's outburst all of them had turned around.

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><p>Two hours later, every walking body in the studios had heard about Emma and Tom, and many, many people had come up to her quoting the rhyme Rupert had shouted. Of course that was annoying, but she laughed it off. It was only a game after all. But what really annoyed her was that there was absolutely <em>nothing<em> going on anyway! He was just a friend who she could talk to and have a laugh with, and if this rumour leaked out, the press would grab hold of it in no time and before long the world would think that Emma Watson and Tom Felton were an item. She had never had a false rumour printed in the press before, but she suspected if word got out about this, she would receive a lot of hate mail from hard core Draco Malfoy fans. After all, Tom was eighteen and had that cute cheeky-chappie look going for him which girls swooned for.

She groaned into her hands and laughed out her humiliation. She had to focus. She was on the set for Pete's sake, in The Grimmauld Place kitchen where they would be shooting in half an hour or so.

A hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up expectantly.

To her shock, it was Gary Oldman. The last time she had seen him was at the Premiere of the Prisoner of Azkaban back in 2003, but three years on he hadn't changed much. He still had the same browny black hair, (which he grew long for his role as Sirius), and the same goatee and smattering of dark stubble. He was already his Sirius Black costume, wearing a suit with a maroon shirt and waistcoat.

She couldn't describe how he was looking at her. It was strange. He was smiling at her, but it was in such an amused way that it made her think he knew way more about her than he was letting on. Still, she found herself smiling confusedly back at him.

"So I don't have my dressing gown anymore," he said.

She caught on to what he was talking about after five or six seconds, remembering what she said to him the first day they met. It was funny how he was using it as a conversation starter. Any other person would of just said 'hello'.

"Oh? What happened to it?" she asked.

God, she _really_ wanted to laugh, but didn't know whether it would be appropriate to.

"I got rid of it."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because apparently, people thought it was a costume."

There was an uncomfortable, stretched silence between the two of them which seemed to drag forever. In her mind she was swearing repeatedly. Over and over. People meaning _her! __She_ was the one who said his most prized possession looked like a fucking costume! Oh... God...

She could only imagine how red cheeked and ridiculous she looked, and yet, she didn't know what to say because she couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Gary's smile twitched into a wide grin and he slammed his hand against the kitchen counter, roaring with laughter. She let out a long sigh of relief.

"You think I'm being serious don't you?" he chuckled, still shaking with laughter.

"Well, you are at the moment," she grinned back, gesturing to his character costume.

He laughed again.

"I thought it was Hermione who was the smart one."

Emma dropped her jaw comically, though she was actually rather offended.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, half joking and half not. "That was harsh. I think you should apologise. I found that quite rude."

"Really? What did I say?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You said – indirectly – that you thought I was thick!"

He raised his eyebrows and held his hands up in surrender. "Well, I would say that makes us even then doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Well, you know," he smirked, "you said an untrue thing about me, I said an untrue thing about you… even stevens!"

"I was thirteen when I said that to you! It was a misunderstanding – it was about a dressing gown for goodness sake!" she gasped and shook her head, "You are really immature Gary-"

"Oho! Who's being rude now Em?"

"It's Emma to you."

He burst out laughing again, much to her annoyance.

"Right, Gary, Emma, you ready?" David called to them, waving his clipboard, "We're about to start the shoot."

Emma started making her way to her position at the table ready for the first take. Her seat was next to Oliver Phelps (Fred Weasley) and opposite Natalia Tena (Tonks) like it had been in rehearsals. She smiled at both of them and drew out her seat to sit down.

"Yeah, all sorted Dave. I was just helping _Em_ get into character," Gary shouted back, settling himself at the head of the table and kicking the chair back as if he owned the place.

"What?" she snapped, glaring daggers at the grinning man.

She was quickly realising that she did not like Gary Oldman much.

"See?" he said to the others, "she's completely in Hermione's mind set. It's fantastic."

Rupert, Dan and the twins all agreed and joined in with Gary's chuckling, but she ignored them and dropped her eyes to the table. There was all the props in front of her - a plate, a set of cutlery and a half empty glass of orange juice. Most people had the same, apart from Gary, Mark and Natalia. Their characters, (Sirius, Arthur and Tonks) were drinking beer.

"Right everyone!" David called over the noise, "take up your positions! Yep, sit still there Rupert – Gary don't lean back on your chair at the start – yes perfect. Okay!" he cleared his throat, "Take 1, Act 2 Scene 3! _ACTION!_"

The camera flashed and the table occupants immediately started to pretend they were eating. Julie Walters (Molly Weasley) was bustling around them all, serving up the dinner.

"This is very, very peculiar," Arthur said, "It seems that your hearing at the ministry is to be before the entire wizarding committee."

"I don't understand, what's the Ministry of Magic got against me?" Harry asked him.

There was an awkward silence around them all.

"Show him," Moody growled, "he'll find out soon enough."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances as Kingsley passed Harry the Daily Prophet newspaper. '_The Boy Who Lies_' was the headline, with a smiling picture of Harry taken at the Triwizard Tournament underneath.

"He's been attacking Dumbledore as well," Sirius told him, "Fudge is using all his power… including his influence at the Daily Prophet to smear anyone who claims the Dark Lord has returned."

"_Why?_"

"The Minister thinks Dumbledore is after his job…" Remus explained.

"But that's insane!" Harry exclaimed, "no one in their right mind would believe that Dumbledore-"

"_Exactly_ the point!" Remus cut across him, "Fudge isn't in his right mind. It's been twisted and warped by _fear_."

Silence fell over the room once again.

"Now, fear makes people do terrible things Harry… the last time Voldemort gained power he almost destroyed everything we hold most dear."

Sirius dropped his eyes to the table in reminiscence.

"Now he's returned, and I'm afraid that Fudge will do almost anything to avoid facing that _terrifying_ truth."

"We think Voldemort wants to build up his army again…" Sirius said, "fourteen years ago he had huge numbers in his command and not just… witches and – and wizards but all manner of dark creatures. He's been recruiting heavily and we've been attempting to do the same… but gathering followers isn't the only thing he's interested in… we believe Voldemort maybe after something…"

Moody cleared his throat in warning, and Mrs Weasley's stabs of the knife on the breadboard sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room. The slicing of the knife suddenly stopped abruptly, followed by a very loud shriek, which caused the camera man to jump and nearly fall over.

"_SHIT!_ Ouch – oh! - sorry everyone – I-I caught my finger!" Julie chuckled, shaking her hand painfully and glaring at the knife.

The room erupted into laughter. Emma choked on the drink she was pretending to swallow and James had to smack her on the back to clear her throat.

"This video has got to be added onto the special features DVD!" David Yates chortled, "classic, absolutely classic!"

Everyone nodded and laughed in agreement.

"Is your finger alright Jules?" Mark called to her, smiling ear to ear.

"My chopped off one you mean? Oh, _fine!_" she giggled back.

"Oh _Julie!_" Emma exclaimed in mock-huffiness, "you ruined an amazing take!"

"Alright for you to say Em, Hermione doesn't say anything!" Dan teased her, "all you do is sit there looking pretty-!"

"If only _Tom_ could see you!" Rupert mimicked in a girly high pitched voice.

He winced when he received a well-deserved slap from Emma _and_ Bonnie.

"DON'T YOU START NOW!" Emma scolded him, trying her best to sound as serious as she could before she cracked and started laughing like all the others.

"You really brought out the Hermione side in Emma, Gary," David said very loudly, "I'm impressed. Maybe I should have you two argue every time before we start filming."

"Excuse me?" she shot at them.

"I told you," Gary grinned at her, the same amused, teasing grin he had on his face earlier. "I was helping you get into the character of Hermione! And I think…" he stroked his stubble mysteriously. "I think it worked."

"And _I think_ that I don't like you very much," she retorted and stubbornly turned away from him.

"Of course you don't like me, I'm Sirius Black. Hermione and him – you and me - are supposed to argue, that's what we're like-!"

But he was cut off when Emma threw a chopped carrot across the room at him, and he had to duck quickly to miss it hitting his nose.

David hushed them, and once they had settled down, they started the take all over again. They eventually completed the scene the whole way through on Take 5, because certain actors kept coming out of role when they caught each other's eyes…

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><p>After they had completed the scene, Emma and the others strolled back to the common room for a much-deserved break. She settled herself in her favourite corner of the room, smiling when Tom jogged straight over to her asking how the first shoot went. She said it went well, and then begged him to make her a cup of tea. So he rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen.<p>

A minute later Gary Oldman plopped himself on the sofa beside her and stole the last digestive biscuit she had on her lap.

"Hey!" she exclaimed when he munched it down in one, "go and get me another one!"

"No, because I'd probably end up eating that one as well," he replied lightly.

"Are you acting like Sirius or Gary now? Because I'm getting the feeling that they are the same person," she huffed.

"And I'm getting the impression that Hermione and Emma are the same person. Are you always this annoyed and angry Em?"

"Are you always this irritating?" she bickered back, shaking her head in exasperation.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head in the same manner. "Are you always this accusing?"

"Are you always so up your own arse?"

"Okay, let's stop with the rhetorical questions now shall we?"

They fell silent for at least ten seconds, Emma pursing her lips together and Gary messing up his dark locks awkwardly before they both cracked and fell about laughing.

"Don't you know a question when you hear one?" she teased him, giggling harder when she realised that she had asked _another_ question.

"Can you not go one sentence without asking a question?" he chuckled back.

"Can you?"

They both laughed again, clutching their aching stomachs.

"Will you stop it?" he coughed, wiping the tears from his eyes and then roaring with laughter again.

"I can't! What's wrong with me?"

"I'll take you to the hospital shall I?"

They didn't calm down until five minutes later, when Tom came over to them asking Emma how many sugars she wanted in her tea. This got them laughing again, by which time they were literally breathless and heaving for oxygen.

"No more, no more," he exhaled heavily.

"I know!" she sighed, fanning herself from the heat, "I can barely breathe."

"I haven't laughed that much in a long time," he beamed at her.

"What are you two laughing about?" Dan asked them, collapsing on the chair next to Gary, followed by Rupert and Bonnie. "We could hear you from outside!"

Someone's phone started ringing, 'Hey Jude' by the Beatles was the ringtone. They all exchanged looks as if to say 'is it yours?' but it was Gary who dug into his pocket and gestured to his ringing phone, quickly excused himself with an apologetic look.

"I thought you didn't like him?" Rupert said as soon as the door closed.

"I don't," she answered simply.

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><p><em>I will be updating very soon! In the meantime, a massive thank you to you all. -S <em>


	5. 21st March 2006

**21st March 2006**

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><p>Nearly six weeks later, Emma arrived early into the Studios and in her sleepiness, was practically steered by David Heyman into her chair in the hair and make-up department. Sandra, who had done her make-up since film one, knew that Emma needed a good two hours to fully wake up in the mornings, and so happily got to work on her lovely hair as she lightly dozed. Her peace was ruined half an hour later when a group of rowdy men burst through the doors, yelling and shouting loudly.<p>

"What's all the noise about?" she grumbled groggily to Sandra. Her voice was thick with sleep. The question was answered for her seconds later.

"…HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR GARY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!"

Emma groaned and clamped her hands over her ears. Across the room, she saw Bonnie watching her and laughing at her reaction. It was simply too early to be shouting down her ear like they were. I mean really, had they seen the time?! A minute later, when she was sure they had stopped, she dropped her hands.

"And one for luck-!"

"Hip-hip!"

"HORAAY!"

The annoying chanting was followed by a series of people scrambling from their chairs to congratulate Mr Oldman. Emma however, wasn't one of them. She wasn't ignoring the man, he knew that she wasn't a morning person. He had been on the receiving end of many mumbling morning greetings from her in the last month, and he seemed to know that she wasn't willing to talk without having a cup of tea first. Seeing as she hadn't drank said cup of tea, she stubbornly kept her eyes shut, the feel of Sandra's cool hands on her skin sobering her.

"Em, aren't you going to say happy birthday to Gazza?" came the voice of Dan. "You're the only one that hasn't-"

When she didn't reply, she heard Gary say "It's alright Dan leave her. I know how much of a grumpy cow she can be in the mornings."

He saw her mouth drop in shock in the reflection of her mirror, and he smiled knowingly. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head to stop herself storming over and slapping him silly.

By now, people working on set on the Harry Potter films were well aware of the Emma-Gary clash. The two of them bickered a hell of a lot more than any other co-stars did. In the beginning, David had jokingly suggested to Gary that he pick a fight with her before every take to help her get into the mind set of Hermione, and it worked. He seemed to know what buttons to push in order to have her bubbling with fury and frustration, not just before takes - now they were squabbling off-set all the time too. It wasn't that they didn't like each other – quite the contrary actually. When they weren't down each other's necks they were rather fond of the other, some days it could even be said that they got on like a house of fire, and the other days, like today, well-… they didn't.

When there was no reply from her again, there was much snickering and chortling from the male actors, Dan, Rupert, Tom, the Phelps twins, David Thewlis and Alan Rickman.

"She doesn't like you Gary," Rupert sniggered, "that much is clear." Emma kept her eyes firmly shut and bit her tongue to stop herself from shouting at him. He was really going all out for this year's 'The Tease' game.

"Sit at your assigned seats please guys!" David called from the corridor outside, "We start shooting the first scene of the day in forty five minutes!"

She barely uttered three words that morning. She didn't know why she was in such a particularly foul mood. She had the stress of her GCSE examinations approaching in June, for which she had to revise for ten subjects. Dan, Rupert and Tom had already taken there's in the last two years and were marginally apologetic, but the older actors certainly weren't. When she wasn't shooting she had tutoring for five hours each day in her dressing room, and, if that wasn't enough, several members of the cast had offered her to help her revise when they weren't shooting. One of these was Helena Bonham Carter, to whom she had grown very close, and they sat together in 'the trio's corner' eating strawberries with a pile of science books and notes. Often they didn't end up going over work but chatting instead, or getting disrupted by Gary and David offering them bourbon biscuits.

Bourbon biscuits are what Gary was eating now. She could see him across the room, surrounded by a group of people handing him wrapped presents, and gift wrapped wine. Sandra instructed her to turn her head to style her hair, ironically ending up facing in his direction. She dropped her eyes to the floor in case she caught his eye, but he did anyway. He smiled and gave her a teasing wink, to which she smiled and couldn't help but return, before David was ushering him and all the other actors into their seats.

* * *

><p>"Nice one James!"<p>

Emma, or should we say Hermione, was crouched under a rock of the ministry set, watching as Sirius and Harry flicked their wands and surged forwards, fighting off the Death Eaters. Sirius had already punched Lucius Malfoy. She remembered Gary's face when he saw the script; how he let out a delight whoop at the fact he'd be smacking a good friend of his, Jason Isaacs, around the face. Not literally of course, they had to rehearse it so the timing was spot on. Emma had said to him that there wasn't much to be happy about seeing as he was getting killed off in this scene by Helena (Bellatrix). And it was true. He was. And he looked noticeably crestfallen at the thought.

Watching him now, she felt awful. Seeing Bellatrix shout 'avada kedrava!' at him, and seeing him fall back with his mouth open and eyes rolling back…- it really hit home that this was Gary's last film, and it hit home harder that they would probably never see each other ever again. It was this that she was mulling this over the second that David called cut and announced they stopped for a tea break. Everyone moved off to collect tea and biscuits, but she was rooted to the spot, too preoccupied with her thoughts to see that Gary was watching her from the other side of the set, spinning his wand in his fingers and frowning slightly in concern at her state.

He crossed over to her and jumped down from the massive stage set. "Hey," he said, gently poking her with his wand in the ribs. "What's wrong? You've been in a mood all day. You haven't even wished me happy birthday yet."

She put her face in her hands, feeling suddenly guilty. "I'm sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind, that's all." She re-emerged from her hands, and he furrowed his eyebrows, as if to say 'what's happened?', but she shook her head and tugged her lips into a small smile.

"Happy birthday old man."

She poked him back with her own wand, and he laughed softly at the gest. "A poke instead of a hug," he summarised, moving his head to the side like he was evaluating its effectiveness, "that's a first."

"What can I say?" she started to laugh and shrug at the same time. "There's no one like me."

"I know."

He didn't laugh with her, he just smiled at her, and it was familiar- it stirred something within her, provoked a memory within her. It was the same smile she had seen before, the first time she saw him on the Grimmauld Place set on the Order of the Phoenix. The smile that was almost a smirk in the way it seemed amused, and happy all at once- as if he knew her more than he was telling.

She shook her mind of him and bowed her head to the floor so he wouldn't notice her blushing; once, she remembered an interviewer told her that when she blushed her brown eyes turned to honey. If it were true, she hoped Gary didn't notice.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, her voice a sheepish mumble.

"Like what?"

She tried her upmost to push all embarrassment out of her mind as she gestured vaguely towards him. "Like …that!"

He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh my, my Miss Watson you've really got a way with words."

"Shush you." Though she was she smiling, pursing her lips so as to not laugh out loud. She didn't want him to know that he could make her laugh when she felt like shit. "You should be more mature, considering you're thirty seven today," she said to him, pointing her finger mockingly.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you know that? Find my page on Wikipedia did you?"

He stepped teasingly closer to her, chuckling lowly at her sarcastic, eager nodding.

"No-o," she finally answered, when their laughing ceased. "_Dan_ told me."

"Ah, I see," he dug his hands into his pockets and rolled back on his heels. "And I'm always your main topic of conversation presumably?"

"Oh, obviously," she mocked dramatically, and his mouth twitched into a pleased grin. She was certain he became more annoying when he was in his 'Sirius' costume. "It's become something of a hobby of Dan's to nag me to watch your films."

"What - you haven't seen them?" his face visibly dropped into a frown. "_Any_ of them?"

A flicker of hurt sparked in his eyes and he crossed his arms sulkily; for a second he looked like a petulant child- an adorable one, all the same. "I've seen all of yours," he muttered. "All four."

"I've only been in four-!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes fondly at the sad pretence he had currently adopted. She could see why he was so praised amongst film critics; he could turn his acting on and off. "If it makes you feel better I saw Dracula when I was ten and I didn't sleep for about a week."

The sadness disappeared; back again was that knowing smile spreading slowly across his lips. For the short time it had gone, she found she'd missed it.

"For that I can only apologise; it wasn't my aim to deprive people of sleep, especially not you, my darling." He stepped closer and gave her a mischievous wink. "After all, it's not your fault I'm so irresistible you lie awake, blissfully dreaming..."

"Oh, shut up!" she said with a mortified laugh and a light smack to his arm; rather than protest he barked with laughter and lunged for her hand.

"See!" he chortled, pulling her back to him, rounding on her, "you didn't deny it!"

"I did!"

"You didn't!"

She would have blushed if she wasn't so intent on letting go of his hand. Goodness, this man had a strong grip. "Two decades younger, and perhaps I would _consider_ you, if you were lucky."

"You'd only consider me?"

He outstretched his arms smugly as he said it, and she had a suspicion he was tensing his bicep muscles through his jacket. She knew he was only joking,- or she sincerely hoped he was, but she went along with him, nodding and wolf whistling with the upmost enthusiasm.

"I've changed my mind. You look like a twenty year old."

"Yes, so I'm well within your age range Em."

"_Emma._"

He grinned and leant forward to whisper something in her ear when he was interrupted by David, waving his clipboard from somewhere behind her.

"Alright guys! Let's get back to work!"

In the scene of Sirius's death, she found herself barely having to act. Her eyes followed Sirius' every move, and she felt her heart race and nearly burst from her chest when she saw Bellatrix apparate in with a swirl of black smoke radiating from the smoke machine. When she raised her wand Emma could feel the tears prickling her eyes, and they weren't just tears from Hermione, but tears from herself… and Harry's reaction to his Godfather's death made her cry harder, how he struggled against the arms of Lupin, screaming in pain… It was fantastic acting from Dan, and by the time David had shouted cut once more she was a weeping, hormonal mess. Bonnie and Rupert immediately ran over to her and pulled her up in a cuddle, shortly followed by Dan, who had a smile plastered to his face. Deep down though, she knew he was upset too. Not only for Harry, but for the fact that he and Gary were close.

She and the rest of the cast made their way back to the common room. They had finished for the day, and it was then, when they were joined by the crew, did the producer David Heyman announce that it was Gary's last full day on Potter. He was pushed by David Thewlis and Alan Rickman into the centre of the room, where he was greeted to a massive applause. There were whoops and cheers, and the occasional bellow of something inappropriate that made everyone laugh. But Emma…

She could barely look at him. She could barely hold the cup of tea in her hand. She could barely listen to him for long enough to focus on his words. He was so funny, and yet she couldn't even manage a smile. Mostly, she didn't want him to go.

After his little speech- which he kept short and sweet, everyone bundled around him to say their goodbyes, good luck's, see you soon's… Emma waited at the back of the group, biting her lip and clutching onto her tea for dear life. She supposed she was upset because, for her, she knew it would be goodbye. They didn't have the best of relationships, but they had an erratic, interesting one, and it was for that and their conversations, their playful banter that she would miss about him. And how he seemed to scoff the majority of the biscuits before anyone had a chance… and how he still brought up that fucking dress gown of his that he wore on the first day they met. There was no telling what her life would be like after the Potter films, or even if she would make it as an actress after. She wanted to go to university, she wanted to travel the world, she wanted to do all these things that didn't involve coming across a middle aged British actor like him.

This was it.

People were starting to clear from him now. The crew had went back to the set to pack up the cameras, and the two David's had gone with them. Many of the cast had vacated to their own personal dressing room's to prepare to go home for the day… by half past six it was just her, Gary and Dan left in the common room, and by the time the two of them had hugged, exchanged numbers and waved goodbye, it was seven. And now, looking around the deserted common room, it was just the two of them.

"So," she said, taking small, timid steps towards him. He smiled and did the same, until they both stopped a metre from each other.

She cuddled her arms to herself and focussed on a spot over his shoulder. "I guess this is good bye then."

His face was impassive and solemn- the most solemn she had ever seen him, and he slowly nodded. She got the feeling he was upset too, for he kept staring at her and swallowing, as if he had a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. She would know, because she had the very same lump.

He reached his hand out and touched her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed as he stroked it softly with his fingers. Her heart was thumping against her chest so fast, it was difficult to breathe.

"Good luck Emma."

"Em. Call me… " she looked down at their suddenly intertwined hands, and back up at his face, at how his eyes were shining and his lips were straight with barely restrained emotions. "-_Em,_" she whispered.

His face went through a number of emotions: sad, amused, to sad again, before he started to laugh; that barking laugh that she once assumed was just Sirius's, but over the three years that she had known him, she came to realise that it was his own too. Silent and trembling she shuffled into his arms and felt his strong, warm arms wrap around her, felt his lips press to her temple in a gentle kiss. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying so hard not to cry. She thought of every happy memory she could of in that moment to hold back the tears, but still they fell, streaming down her cheeks.

"Stop it, because you'll start me off," he murmured deep within her ear.

She couldn't stop though.

The tears still kept coming like a waterfall, never ceasing, never drying, so all he could do was hold her, run a soothing hand down her back and whisper things into her ear. Her heart was aching like it never had, and she knew that it was because she had fallen. Fallen for the thing that nearly every song was written about, the thing that she'd read numerous books about, and the thing mother had warned her about. She knew it wasn't normal. He was Gary Oldman, she was Emma Watson, he had wife, he had a house in Los Angeles, and what did she have? She was sixteen, she was taking her GCSE's, she didn't _know_ where her life was headed. This was the last thing she needed and the last thing she wanted.

She didn't want to fall, but fall she did into the depths of the most powerful emotion in the world… where you could lose your head and your heart, where their voice was your favourite sound, and your stomach was reduced to swooning butterflies at the most stupid thing, where your happiness relied on theirs, and the best medicine was a kiss, the comfiest home their arms…

It was all of this in which Emma fell. Hard, fast, and for good, in all in less than a minute.

* * *

><p><em>After those of you who left such heart warming reviews, I knew I couldn't leave this story. See this chapter as my Christmas present to you, you wonderful people! I know it is quite short, but I have a lot of stories going on at the moment and this is just to get back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! -Sophie. PS have yourself a merry little Christmas!<em>


	6. 26th September 2006

_Thank you for sticking with me! :)_

* * *

><p><strong>26th September 2006<strong>

* * *

><p>At long, long last shooting for the Order of the Phoenix had finished, and she was allowed a three month break before the pre-production of the Half Blood Prince. She spent the time in her home city of Oxford, revelling in her home luxuries and the privacy that her holiday had given her. Her phone was turned off most the time, and her agent, Alex Irwin, got the hint to ring the house phone whenever they needed to talk about work, or upcoming interviews, or appearances on television shows.<p>

More than anything she wanted to keep Harry Potter to a bare minimum. She wanted to be out of the public eye for a while… to do the things that normal sixteen year old girls do. She had gone to her secondary school Prom. Her mother had made her and her brother Alex stand outside their house and pose in their grand formalwear as she snapped at the camera. The photographs had become progressively sillier with each click…

That night she proceeded to sip (not drink, _sip_) champagne with her friends, only to slide the glasses hurriedly on the table whenever a particularly raving song came on. Scissor Sisters _'I Don't Feel Like Dancin' _was number one, and people literally screamed and hurried to the dance floor as the opening intro blasted through the speakers. By the end of the night her feet ached from wild dancing, her throat hurt from talking (and admittedly screaming), and her stomach hurt from good old hearty laughter.

She loved being a normal girl for those months in between films- short as they were. And maybe this time she loved it a little too much, because when David Heyman sent her the five year contract renewal from Warner Bros, she didn't sign it. And like everything in show biz, her hesitation quickly leaked out into the press.

'WATSON TO QUIT POTTER' was headlining every major newspaper in the UK and the States, alongside pictures of hard core Potterheads crying and clutching photographs of her. One man being interviewed for BBC News had her face tattooed on his arm. She'd received hundreds, possibly thousands of hate mail at her agent's London office. People were confused, heartbroken and inconsolable.

Press and paparazzi were outside her house. It was like the scene from _'Notting Hill'_ but worse, because this time it was real. She was followed everywhere she went, paps swarming around her like bees to honey, poking out of bushes and peering around street corners, even going as far as boarding the same plane to Paris when her father treated her to a weekend away. She'd had twenty three missed calls altogether from Dan, Rupert and Bonnie, and David Heyman even more. David was like a father to her, had always looked out for her, cared for her, and Dan, Rupe and Bonnie were her siblings; the four people that, on a normal day, she would never miss a chance to speak to… and now she was.

Why?

It wasn't because of the gruelling work on set, or the hours waiting around- sometimes not even doing anything. It wasn't because of the people. She loved everyone on Potter, not just Dan, Rupert, Bonnie and David. They were all her friends, all close enough to call her second family, and they would always be that way to her, no matter what paths they took in life. And it wasn't about Hermione as a character. Hermione was a part of Emma, Emma was a part of Hermione; they went hand in hand together, and strangely they felt like sisters…

It was because of her fame, mostly, and the screams of her name that had become like the tedious soundtrack to her life. And some tiny part inside of her couldn't deny that it was because of _him _too_._ Gary had been completely out of her life for three whole months. She hadn't seen nor heard from him, and she supposed it was some unspoken agreement between them that that's how it would be from now on.

It was because of the fame she was somewhat unsure about whether to sign the five year contract with Warner Bros. She received her GCSE examination results in the summer; eight A* and 2 A grades. She knew that she could do more with herself, could offer more, and could _be_ more. Ultimately, she wanted to push herself to bigger heights than a film studio in Watford ever could. Yet people were calling her selfish for even considering throwing away a dream job like hers. She had the looks, the job, the money, the man (they thought she was dating Tom Felton), to them at the tender age of sixteen she had everything that people strive their whole lives to achieve.

She was trapped behind a camera lens and the rest of the world was judging her. The Devil_ was _the Camera. She learnt the brutal lesson when she was young that when you're famous everything is about money, reputation and how the world perceives you.

Each day she made her way to the bedside table and sat down, looking in the mirror at the girl who had experienced way more life than her years. She was ripe and fresh in appearance but inside she was as shrivelled and as fragile as an old woman, and it shouldn't be like that. She wanted to scream and shout at the top of her lungs, but in reality she barely uttered a word.

Until September 26th.

There was an awfully loud rapping on her bedroom door, followed by her mother's voice. "Emma, there's someone on the phone for you!"

Her response was quick, and one her mother had heard many times before in the last few weeks: "Not now!"

"But maybe it will do you some good to speak to someone sweetheart, just speak to them for a few minutes…"

Her hands clenched into fists around her pillow. "I don't _want_ to talk to anyone at the moment. I've tried to explain to you why, but you, just like everyone else – you don't understand!"

"Emma-"

"Mum, will you listen to me?!" she was turning hysterical. "I'm not speaking to them! I'm not speaking to anyone! Tell them that I'm in the bath or something, anything, I don't care."

She heard her mum go back to the phone, only catching the words 'bath', 'half an hour' and 'sorry'. Her mother hated lying; she lived her life by valuing honesty above all else, and to lie as coldly and plainly as she had done then told her just how desperate things were getting just to protect her.

Seconds later her mother was peering round the door, her hand clamped around the phone and a look of mild panic on her face. "Em, he says he'll _wait!_ What on Earth shall I say now?"

"It isn't a newspaper journalist is it?"

She shook her head. "No, I asked him who he was and he said something about a dressing gown…"

Her whole body froze. "What?"

There must have been something in her voice, for her mum eyed her worriedly and frowned in concentration. "Yes… I can't remember exactly what he said because I was ironing when I took the call, your brother's boxers…" she huffed. "But… I recall him saying you'd know who he was if I mentioned a dressing gown."

Emma was hardly listening. "I – I suppose I should have a quick word then. Thanks mum."

She was handed the phone and her mother left the room, still muttering about Alex's underwear. She didn't speak until she heard the last of her footsteps down the stairs; and then she still didn't speak. She didn't have to. He sensed it was her.

"Hello Em."

She felt like a fish out of water. She'd gotten used to not having anything to do with him; she felt reassured with the fact that she would never see or hear him again. Was it really _him_ telephoning her from his swanky apartment-come-mansion in Los Angeles? She didn't know if he had a swanky apartment, but it seemed likely.

"It's your favourite old man."

He gave that familiar soft chuckle and she snapped her eyes shut, trying to will down the thumping of her heart. God, she'd missed him. His voice was just as deep and soft and warm as she had remembered and she silently cursed him; she needed closure so she could fall out of this foreign infatuation, not a phone call!

It wasn't love.

_It wasn't._

"Em? Are you there?"

She rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. _It wasn't love._

"Yes, sorry… er, if you don't mind me asking, how did you get my number?"

"I asked a few people."

Emma rolled her eyes but remained in icy silence- 'people' usually meant Dan. Dan's admiration for his favourite actor was very cute in the beginning; he was like an excited poodle following him around, doing whatever he wanted. Giving him her number without her permission, however, had severely crossed the line. Gary must have sensed that she wasn't too enthusiastic to talk to him, because when he spoke again his tone became just as sceptical and formal as hers had been.

"It is okay that I ring you?"

She twiddled with the line, "Well it's a bit late to ask now."

He exhaled slightly and the sound crackled down the phone. "Well I can see that my presence hasn't been missed in your life."

He said it jokingly, lightly, but she could tell it was an act. Amazingly talented as an actor he was, not even Gary could hide his genuine hurt. She could see him holding the phone now, running a thoughtful hand through his hair as he often did, with a concerned frown on his face. He was probably wearing a Beatle's top and jeans, or one of his Paul Smith shirts…

"Emma, did you hear me-?"

She muttered a sorry and said nothing more.

There was a good minute of silence down the phone; all she could hear was his breathing. She'd wished he'd never called, wished that he'd leave her alone. It was easier to move on that way. Did he not see that?

"So," he cleared his throat roughly. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong? I'm fine…" her voice wandered off.

"Really?"

She grit her teeth, "Yes."

There was a long pause, and she waited with trembling hands.

"I know you're lying, Em."

"I'm not-"

"Don't give me that, _everyone_ is talking about you! I spoke to Dan last night and he was on the brink of tears. The last time I saw you were laughing, you were eager to do new things, you were happy-"

"And how do you know I'm not still happy, exactly? You haven't seen me in-"

"Three and a half months, yes I know – I'm well aware - you're not the only one who's been counting! You'd disappeared from the face of the earth and then, out of the blue, I went into work last week and Chris Nolan's reading the newspaper, everyone else surrounding him. Any clues as to what it said?"

"No," she spat, suddenly shaking uncontrollably; fury at him, jealously, bitterness, hurt… it was all there, coursing through her veins. "I don't want to talk about this Gary! Not with _you! _It has absolutely nothing to do with you! _Nothing!_"

Her breaths turned sharp, and she realised she was crying. It was a bad idea answering the phone, she knew that now.

"Em," his voice was softer now, "you are to do with me. I want to help you, if you'd just fucking let me-"

She let out a frustrated huff. "_No!_ Why should I when you haven't bothered to pick up the phone before now and speak to me! You haven't asked me how I am, you haven't had anything remotely to do with me actually, but from what I hear you're always catching up with Dan! You're the best of friends-!"

"That's not fucking fair!" he growled. He was angry now, and no soft chuckles or old dressing gown jokes could hide it. "On my last day at Potter I had every intention of keeping in touch with you, and not because I felt like I had to; but you know what you said to me when I went to say goodbye? You said 'so, this is it'. So this is it!" there was a slam, and she jumped. "You were the one that ended it there Emma! _You_ were the one who pushed me away, just like you're doing now!"

There was a long, agonising silence. Emma wiped vigorously at her tears, seriously debating whether to put down the phone. She wanted to; she wanted to slam the phone down so hard that it never rung again. But it was him…

"Look, I - I didn't ring to make you upset," he said, quietly now.

"Well you have a hidden talent for it then. If you knew how utterly shit I feel right now-" her voice hitched and trembled with barely restrained emotions. "…You wouldn't be – be - _shouting _at me."

"But I don't know how shit you feel, because you haven't _told _me."

"Because you won't understand!" she was sobbing again, gripping her fists into her pillow. "_No one_ understands. Not even my own family…"

"Then explain it to me and help me understand. _Please_."

He was gently pleading with her, just short of begging, and it only made her cry more. She was immensely glad it wasn't the loud, wet, hysterical crying but she still felt ridiculous regardless; she still looked in her bedside mirror and despised what she saw.

He continued probing her, whispering and murmuring sweet things, and eventually she let out a long suffering sigh and gave in. "Fine. Give me a minute to get comfortable."

She rested the phone on her bedside table and climbed back into bed after anger and frustration at Gary had made her leap out of it. She pulled the covers to her shoulders and plumped the pillows into shape before reaching again for the phone.

"Okay."

She proceeded to tell him the things she had never uttered to anyone else, and all from the confines of her toasty bed sheets. "I feel trapped', 'I can't deal with the press', 'I don't know what to do, because people will think I'm selfish'- the list went on. She was surprised at how better it felt to talk about her problems openly than bottle them up inside her; it was one of the many things Gary had taught her, ironically. In the end everything just poured out all at once, and even if she may have sounded like the pathetic sixteen year old girl she was, he sat and he listened to her for over two hours.

"_This is the truth love: if you quit Potter you would become one of the most disliked child stars, simply because to the fans, Harry Potter is so much more than a book. Joanne gave Hermione an incredible female voice which only you can portray, and David [Heyman] saw that when you auditioned. You are the world's perfect Hermione, love. Stick at it and enjoy every moment, even if you aren't, because you'll regret it when it's all over."_

Sometimes in life things are said and you remember them forever, and this was a prime example. It was the best piece of advice she'd ever been given; she knew from the moment he said the words she'd remember them until the day of her death and whatever lay beyond. Everything he said made sense. He calmed her from raging, relentless storm into a soft breeze, so that by the time it was twenty to midnight she was clutching her stomach and laughing into her pillow.

It was difficult to explain to her mother in the next room how she went from shouting and crying one minute to laughing the next. Her emotions were a whirlwind that Gary had unknowing control over, and would always have control over whichever side of the Atlantic Ocean he was. The thing that hurt most was that he was already moving onto new things, filming for '_The Backwoods'_, script learning of '_Batman Begins'_, and she'd be sitting in the common room of Leavesden Studios without him, staring at the full biscuit tin.

She stopped laughing, and his barks of laughter (which she would always associate with Sirius Black's) trailed to a stop too. For a while they sat in thoughtful silence, half knowing what the other was going to say, half trying to keep it hidden. Without realising, they had gone back to awkward formalities again like at the beginning of the evening, as if they hadn't just revealed some secrets of their heart to one another.

"Why did you call really?"

"Because I …" he exhaled again, like she was provoking him to reveal a taboo secret, "I care about you."

"Why?"

Gary roughly cleared his throat; she was pushing her luck now, and they both sensed it, but she couldn't just end the conversation on a laugh and lay awake, staring at the ceiling with her head swimming with questions that remained unanswered. What was this? She cherished his advice, of course she did, but why couldn't he have kept it easy and left her alone?

"I can't explain what I felt when I went into work that morning and everyone on the set was talking about you. You were on the front page of the newspapers, on the television news, and I felt angry and upset because I _know you_, and yet it seemed like I was the last person in the fucking world to know this. I hated it."

Her heart was thumping against her rib cage, threatening to expose her real feelings, yet she ignored it and ventured on... "That's not answering my question. Why do you care? Why couldn't you just leave me be?" she shook her head desperately, "Why… why do you _care?!"_

"What sort of question is that? I just do, alright? I always have, it's you."

"What do you mean 'it's me'?" she exclaimed, to no avail. She covered a hand over her eyes, frustrated and spent. She should have kept quiet, should have curled further into the confines of her covers than answer the phone to him.

"I have to go," he was saying, "my wife's home from work. Give me your mobile number and I'll text you-"

"No." The hand dropped away from her eyes as quick as it came, and she was shaking her head all over again. "I'm sorry, I can't."

There was a moment of silence. It would have trickled on longer had he not remembered that his wife's footsteps were getting louder behind him. Even Emma could hear them; she must have been wearing heels. "What?" He was starting to panic, and she could sense it down the phone, "Just tell me quickly and I'll write it down so I can-"

"No! It's not a good idea Gary."

"What? What are you talking about?" his voice was a strained stage whisper. "I just want to talk to you. Without your number how am I meant to contact you?"

She said nothing and it took mere seconds for him to realise that he wasn't meant to. His breathing became sharp and hard, and she could hear stomping, like he was erratically moving about the house hunting for seconds left to speak to her. "So you shouted at me earlier for not talking to you for three and a half months and now when I try to you say no-? What the fuck is that?"

"I'm sorry." His voice was hard and upset and she was holding on to her pillow like it was her life, trying so hard to keep it together. "…I'm so sorry."

"Christ Emma I don't want you to be sorry!" he roared suddenly, making her jump, making her cry; "I want you to tell me why you keep pushing me away!"

His wife would have heard that, no matter how far he had run. He could hear her gasps for breath, hear her battling the tears, and his voice cracked for her. "Just say it love, speak your heart…"

"Gary, I'm home! Where are you? Who are you talking to?"

It was his wife, she was looking for him. When he spoke his voice was closer than it ever had been before, like he was whispering right into her ear. "You're killing me Em, just say it…"

She did. She said it all, and in less than a second. Any slower and she wouldn't have said it, any quicker and it would have meant nothing.

"I can't give you my number, speak to you or hear from you because I - I like you. I'm sixteen and I like you, sixteen and I love you!" her eyes fell shut embarrassingly. "That's why. That's it. It can't be like this. It's wrong, and I'm sorry for ever putting you in this position. Don't speak to me, don't have anything to do with me, please it's - it's better this way. Just take care Gary… goodbye."

Before he could say a word, if he even had a word to say, she hung up.

Though he had her home phone number she knew he wouldn't ring it again, so the little red phone was effectively the scissors that cut all ties that the two of them ever had. She was heartbroken about it now, but one day she knew she wouldn't be; one day she'd be okay. To her Gary Oldman was an incredible actor, Britain's best, and that was it. Maybe in the future she would see him through the crowd at a Premiere, or walking the streets of London or Los Angeles, but she'll avert her eyes and walk past. She will never speak to him again, no matter how much she ached to, and because the heart does heal with time, she will learn to get over him… eventually.


	7. 21st July 2008

_First of all let me just say: rileypotter17 you have submitted my all time favourite review EVER. It nearly reduced me to bloody tears and I was home alone so I could prance around and scream to my hearts content! The speedy update was your doing, love. A big thanks and computer equivalent hugs to all of my reviewers and Gary/Emma junkies. This is for you!_

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><p><strong>21st July <strong>**2008**

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><p>The Half-Blood Prince was filmed and complete and was set for release the following year, in July 2009. After signing the contract of renewal at the beginning of last year and continuing the role of Hermione Granger in the last four instalments of the <em>Harry Potter<em> series, a lot of things had changed for Emma Watson and never in her life had she been busier.

She was putting her head down and studying hard for her A Levels in English literature, Geography and Art. Her eyes were set on university, Oxford most specifically, the oldest and one of the greatest universities in the world, and the place where her parents met. It was probably the toughest challenge she had ever set herself, because it meant she had to balance her fame (ever increasing), film schedule and school work all in one _headache_ of a year.

Most overwhelming of all was that she was being widely recognised, and regularly, for her 'sex appeal'. For the second year in a row she had appeared in FHM's 100 sexiest women in the world, coming 98th in 2007 and this year, 33rd. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or die of embarrassment at this emerging 'celebrity pin up' status that seemed completely out of the blue. She was only eighteen after all, and part of her 18th birthday present was the Phelps twins holding up the magazine and loudly announcing the news of her 33rd place in the common room; worst of all was that in the picture she was wearing a skimpy playsuit and lying provocatively on the floor.

She still insisted it was out of the blue.

And of course, _that man_ was still a problem. If she referred to him only by gender, it meant that her heart didn't hurt as much.

She remembered the phone call between them, (the one and only phone call they had ever had) like she had pressed the red button a minute ago, when in reality that button was pressed two years ago. And she hadn't seen him in about two and half, after he declined all the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix premieres due to filming for 'The Dark Knight', in which he had a main character that she'd conveniently forgotten the name of.

She was thankful that they'd never crossed paths since _the Order of the Phoenix_, and she didn't let her mind wander to him either. There were always moments though, short and rare as they were, when she was offered a biscuit from the common room tin, or when a Beatles song came on when her iPod was set to shuffle, and like a gust of wind it was him all over again, invading her senses, shivering her to the bone.

In selfish moments when the world seemed nothing but ugly and her room a pit of darkness, she wondered if he ever thought about her at all. And if he did, was it just in passing, pleasant memories of forgotten days, or every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep at night? She couldn't imagine him lying awake replaying the happy ring of her laugh and the feel of their forbidden intertwined fingers on his last day on set, as she had done once or twice. It made her angry to know that he still affected her two years on; to him she was nothing but an old jumper he had grown out of but kept in his wardrobe, hidden from view, squished amongst all the newer, better clothes he had bought.

"Are you coming tonight Em?"

She jumped and almost toppled off her chair. She had been sitting at the desk in her dressing room at Leavesden Studios (they had cast interviews for the next two days), poring over her annotated copy of 'The Great Gatsby' when Dan poked his head round the door, scar less and grinning excitedly. He let out a fond sigh when he saw the piles of her English literature study texts – Frankenstein, the Bloody Chamber and Doctor Faustus, all her sticky notes and pages of essays with swirling g's and y's surrounding her.

Emma's revision sessions were intense.

Dan shut the door behind him and sauntered in, shaking his head teasingly, "As truly fascinating as Jay Gatsby and Daisy's sex fuelled relationship is, I think you need to come out and socialise for a bit."

She rubbed her eyes warily, a small smile tugging her lips. "Hmm, maybe you're right," she spoke as she yawned, "What's happening tonight then?"

His eyes lit up. "WELL…"

He helped himself to some biscuits from a pack of Maryland's on the coffee table (revision food), and plopped down on the sofa, putting his feet up.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, by all means make yourself at home."

He grinned and shoved a whole biscuit into his mouth as if it was an impressive talent. "We're all going to Rupe's for pre drinks at half five, then getting a cab to Leicester Square for _the Dark Knight_ premiere. It's tonight!"

His voice was muffled through his monstrous chews but she could just about understand him, and she frowned in inquiry. "_'The Dark Knight'_?"

"Yeah!" he nodded enthusiastically and leant forward, "the one Gary's in! He sorted out eight tickets for us! Everyone's going!"

Her mouth was suddenly dry and she turned her back on him, lunging for her bottle of water and flicking open the top. "Oh, well I haven't even seen the first one." Her hand was shaking as she drank.

"That doesn't matter," Dan said breezily, "no one will care; they probably won't interview us anyway-"

"I can't." Heart definitely quickening, she pulled the lid off of her highlighter with a snap and started shuffling through her pile of sheets.

"But I thought you just said-?"

"No, I wish I could but I really need to get revising. My exams start in three days and I need to get three A's, Oxford dreams you know." She shot him an apologetic look, "I just don't have the time at the moment, Dan."

Dan frowned and crossed his arms. "I understand that, but you've been revising for hours every day for the past month, you deserve a night off to have some fun! And did I mention it's _the Dark Knight?_" his voice was incredulous yelp. "It made over _one hundred million_ in the American box office on the opening weekend!"

She shook her head, hating herself for letting him down. "My A levels have to take priority right now. I'm sorry."

With a roll of his eyes Dan stood up, clearly irritated. "Fine, I'll just tell Bonnie, Rupe, Tom, Evy and all the others you're revising. They're going to be upset you know, and Bonnie will be pissed off. And what about Gary?"

"What about him?" Her teeth unconsciously snatched her lip and the grip on her pen was deathly.

"What shall I say to him about your absence?"

"I can't imagine you'll have to say anything to him."

"No, he'll ask. He always asks."

She tried to keep her breathing normal, tried to keep her tone casual.

"Asks about what?"

She picked up a cue card of facts about the setting of Mary Shelley's _'Frankenstein'_ but for the first time in a long time she couldn't focus on the words. She seemed to read half a sentence and go blank, like her brain was unable to function properly, and the more she tried to read, the further the words drained away.

"About you," he said simply. One hand was on his hip and the other in his hair, as if he was trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for her absence. He didn't notice the tension in her back, or how a trembling hand was covering her eyes. "I'll just say you were already busy or something, no one misses a premiere like this because they're revising."

She sent him a weak smile over her shoulder. "Apart from me."

He walked over to her and dropped a kiss to her forehead. "Apart from you."

Then he was bounding out the door in excited, adrenaline rushed leaps and bellowing "See you!" without looking back.

"Have a good time!" she shouted back, her voice embarrassingly croaky, "And don't get too plastered!"

The door shut with a laugh and shortly after a faint yell of "I won't! Shit- I must not tell lies!"

She grinned at Dan's antics but it didn't raise her spirits. The smile slipped into a biting lip and she was left staring down at her hands long after the door shut, hoping Gary wouldn't hold a grudge against her for not seeing another one of his films…

"_He always asks."_

"_Asks about what?"_

"_About you."_

Her arms moved on their own accord and suddenly she was holding her laptop. In less than a minute had loaded up 'Netflix', and through blurry eyes typed 'State of Grace' and clicked 'watch now'.

She'd heard about it from Dan. 'Jackie Flannery' was his favourite of all of Gary's roles, and one that was apparently highly acclaimed by all film critics. With each second she watched, it turned into one of her favourite films, and by the time the credits were rolling she was sobbing into her pillow and then laughing out loud at the thought of someone walking in on her.

She was a state. A state who was supposed to be revising for an exam she was sitting in fifty four hours, and yet all she had achieved in the last hour and forty six minutes was letting an unwanted intruder burrow further into her heart, as fragile and bruised as it was. The fact that the intruder had the most charming, warm and sexy smile that she had ever seen (and shamefully replayed whilst watching the film) made her want to kick something.

She cried and eventually started laughing some more when she realised she was the female version of Jay Gatsby.

The following day she was up at dawn as per usual, driven to Watford and doing interviews for various people. She enjoyed doing interviews when the questions broke away from the cliché 'how would you describe this film?' and 'what's it like playing Hermione?', but she enjoyed her mid-morning breaks in the common room even more. She was making herself a cup of tea to go with her hot cross bun when Dan ran over to her. Before she could even open her mouth to ask the inevitable question he was answering, his wide eyes red and tired but telling of an amazing night.

"I can't even explain to you how _good _it was!" he exclaimed, and she flinched at how loud he was. It was a quarter to eleven, but it was still too early for those sort of volumes, in her opinion. "We all had a few when we got there but even when we sobered…" he trailed off breathlessly, but words weren't needed when his contagious cat-got-the-cream grin got the message across. Happiness was radiating off of him like steam. "Em, Gary is fucking _brilliant _as Gordon."

_Ah._

She was waiting for his name to pop up, and so she was well prepared for it when it did. After her mini breakdown yesterday she had practised smiling in the mirror, pretending to be happy and excited and actually seem interested in the events of last night; it was what she was doing now as she gave her tea two sugars and stirred, half listening, half wishing she was a hedgehog so she could hibernate until December. Dan rolled on the balls of his feet and continued speaking, completely unaware that she was putting on a performance that was Oscar worthy.

"…and he gets to drive the _Bat mobile!_ He hung with us for a while after the showing, introduced me to Christopher Nolan and everything. He bought us all a drink as well, even though Bonnie isn't eighteen-"

"Where is everyone else?" she wandered aloud, looking around at the near empty common room.

"Er, doing interviews for the special features DVD, I think," he replied, not particularly wanting to delve into the subject, "Must have overrun. Ours is this afternoon, David just told me. Anyway, in the end sequence Harvey Dent has Gordon's son with a gun to his head and-"

"Wow, that sounds great, I'm sad to have missed it," she said, biting into her hot cross bun, and feeling awful for lying- "You'll have to tell me the rest later though okay? I have to dash. I'm meeting my tutor to go over my last essay."

This, however, was absolutely true and Dan sighed at her lack of input, "Fine. Is this for English?"

"No, Geography."

He rolled his eyes, having gotten used to her immense work volumes over the years, he hadn't even attempted A levels and she was sure to fly through them; she really was amazing in that respect.

"Alright then, don't have too much fun."

"Shut it," she muttered as she walked to the doors, making him laugh as he watched her leave. A second of realisation and he was speaking loudly again. "Oh Em, wait! I have something for you!"

Her hand was holding the door handle, and she glanced back with a frown. "What?"

He caught up with her and dug a hand in his back pocket, pulling out a piece of black and white card with 'THE DARK KNIGHT' at the top, with her name printed in slightly smaller letters alongside it. "It's your ticket from last night; it'll be worth a few quid in the future. Here."

He handed it to her, and she took it curiously. He saw her expression and elaborated, "Gary told me to give it to you. We've all kept them. And he didn't say anything about your absence by the way, which was lucky."

She looked up at him, her eyes a vacant stare for a moment, before pursing her lips and nodding. "Yes, lucky! Right, well… thanks." She tugged the perfect smile onto her lips and gestured behind her, "…see you later then."

Her tutor Caroline stayed for three and a half hours, going over every detail, every character, every notable scene in each text, until Emma head was about to split open. When Caroline eventually took her leave, she hugged her goodbye and good luck, remarking that she had 'every confidence' that Emma would achieve her dream and land her place at Oxford University to study English.

It was sweet, kind and thoughtful and it made her stomach churn with nerves, so much so that on the close of the door she bolted into her en suite bathroom, fell to her knees and threw up in the toilet. Minutes later she yanked at the toilet paper and wiped her mouth as she lay slumped against the wall, eyes damp from tears she didn't know she was crying, more alone that she had ever felt.

It was 'WATSON QUITS POTTER' all over again, but she'd got through that because of him, and now he was gone.

"Shit Em, _shit._"

Her voice was broken whisper and she thumped her head against the bathroom tiles as she closed her eyes. The ticket Dan had given her was in her pocket, and she slid it out in the mind to throw it straight in the bin.

She gave it a quick scan before she did so, the ticket showing her seat number, number 23, and the date and time of the film showing. But it wasn't until she turned it over that her eyes fell on something unusual. At the bottom of the ticket on a white strip was some elegant scrawl, and definitely hadn't been on any of the other premiere tickets she had. It was small and handwritten, but she could still make out the words.

'_Good luck with exams. Oxford will beg for you, love'_

And at the bottom, squished into the corner…

'_I miss you'_

The ticket she was holding was suddenly speckled with little round pools of tear drops, and they flowed until it was one big lake, wet and soaking in between her fingers. The ticket tore in two, and she clenched it into her fist, thinking that the soft, delicate card severed down the middle was a metaphor for her heart. And what a beautiful metaphor it was.

He hadn't gone after all.


	8. 9th July 2009

_It's been a while but I'm still here! _

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><p><strong>9th July 2009<strong>

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><p>It turns out there was no need in the world to worry about her A Level results. She passed with three A grades - marks that were quite frankly <em>staggeringly <em>impressive for any student, let alone a nineteen year old girl that was a global star and balancing an acting and modelling career.

A letter arrived in the post the following week. It was from Oxford University, writing to confirm that they had offered her a place to study English literature. She smiled until she laughed and laughed until she cried when she read it, and not just because she was so happy, but because she had done it and it was a middle finger up to all those in the media that said Oxford was a dream too far. Her parents were so proud of her when she told them that her dad sent her a beautiful bouquet of flowers that were delivered to her doorstep the following day, and her mum made a fuss of booking a reservation at her favourite local Chinese restaurant to celebrate. They were little things, but Emma was more grateful than she could say.

Since then time, as it tended to, flew by at an alarmingly fast pace and she was as busy as she had ever been. Filming for the Deathly Hallows was near enough every day and often she had to travel to various parts of Britain as a large proportion of the film was being shot outside on the trio's 'hunt for Horcruxes'. She had to make the disappointing but wise decision of deferring her Oxford studies to the following year, when her schedule had calmed down a little. She had little time to herself anymore, and when she did it was spent with her new boyfriend: Jay Barrymore, a financer whom she had met while visiting her father in Paris. She could barely recall how it happened; she definitely hadn't been looking for romance. As the saying goes 'it had found her' as she hid in the shadows and tried to blend into the crowd. She was in the city of love though, and it changed everything.

Jay was great.

He was funny, handsome, and he matched her intelligence in spades, but mostly he made her feel special; it was a terrible cliché to say, and one that was difficult to admit, but it was true. With every day she was emerging into a new woman, more sophisticated, more mature and even more achingly beautiful and it was all down to him. It unnerved her that so many people commented on her looks now, particularly in the press. They'd never really noticed in the early years because she was so young, but now at nineteen years old it was rare that she was introduced or greeted as anything but _'the gorgeous Emma Watson'._ Whereas others may have found it flattering and endearing, it did nothing but make her uncomfortable, even make her cringe to the point that she frequently laughed in interviewer's faces when they mentioned it. Maybe it was because she didn't really believe them. They were just empty, thrown about words that the press said to everyone, and yet, when she was with Jay and he would say it, she believed him. There was something about him that was easy and natural, and after months of dating, she still hadn't one bad word to say about him. Not one. She even thought that she might be falling for him. She'd made that mistake with someone before.

It had gone from 'him' to 'someone'. She'd been steering her mind away from him for so long now that she did it unconsciously, and with every week and month that flew by he started to slowly fade from her life, taking all her memories of him along. Dan rarely mentioned him either, and if he did it wasn't to her. He seemed to know that she wasn't interested in the man, never had been, and never would be. It had been three and a half years since she'd last seen him, four years of having to hide and pretend she was okay. _Three and a half years._

It was a long time, and she had become accustomed to labelling it as such because it helped her to push him away if she put distance between them. She told herself that he probably wasn't even the same man she used to know. He probably couldn't make her laugh like he did. And he probably wouldn't look at her the way he used to either, the amused twinkle in his eye that said he knew her more than he was letting on, that he knew her more than any other person in the whole fucking world. That wouldn't be there anymore. He would wear different clothes, aftershave, have his hair in a different style... maybe he had grown out the Beatles and Paul Smith clothes as well. Whatever he was, he wasn't going to be the man she fell in love with. He would be different, just as she was, and if she did happen to see him now, in some night-mare turned reality, she wouldn't have anything to say to him. What _was _there to say? The chapter had closed, the credits had rolled.

And so she moved on, and she was okay with moving on, and for the first time in a long time everything seemed alright. Perfect, even.

It was the week of the Half Blood Prince release. The London premiere was on the Monday, and they'd had a day and a half of rest and relaxation until they had to catch the plane to New York for the US premiere. Dan and Rupert had kept her awake for most of the eight hour flight by throwing sweets at her and generally being annoying gits, so by the time they arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel with the rest of the cast it was early hours and she was exhausted. She went straight up to her room after check in, dumped her suitcase at the door and fell asleep on the bed, still fully clothed. When she woke up the next morning there was a tray of breakfast on the bedside table – blueberry and ricotta pancakes, a favourite of hers that the hotel must have made especially – and next to that a steaming pot of tea.

Half way through her breakfast the telephone on the bedside table started ringing, and she rushed to swallow her mouthful of pancakes before answering. Her mother would've told her to leave it, that no one should disturb you when you are eating a meal, but Emma would put that aside for this once. She got excited answering hotel telephones. "Hello?"

"Morning!"

It was Bonnie, obviously calling from her hotel room. It was much easier to ring their mobiles of course, but Bonnie shared the same excitement as her with hotel phones; there was just something fun about dialling room numbers.

Emma resumed eating, "You okay?"

"Yep, I'm just going to head to Starbucks. There's one up the street. You want to come with-?"

"I'm just eating. Didn't they deliver you breakfast?"

"Yeah, I've eaten it already: scrambled eggs and bacon, looovely. But you know flying makes me famished, I need something else-!"

Emma rolled her eyes, "Alright, the things I do for you! Starbucks it is. I'll meet you down at the foyer in erm…" she looked around the room to see what she still had to do, fluffy white towels were folded up on the chair and she nodded, "yeah I need to shower, so about fifteen minutes?"

She showered, dressed, responded to Jay's text asking about the flight and then headed downstairs, fixing her hair in the mirror of the elevator. She was always self-conscious of her appearance, so much so that she wished mirrors never existed. She sighed at her hair, still damp from the shower and left it down and wavy; the sun had brought out strands of chestnut brown which for once, she was starting to like. She was wearing a summer maxi skirt, similar to what her mother wore in the seventies, ray bans and a sleeveless crop top so she could catch some of New York's sunny rays before she hit the red carpet that evening. Knowing her luck she would burn.

Bonnie was waiting for her in one of the chairs and stood up when she saw her coming. "Love the sunglasses Em, you look hot."

She shook her head and laughed. "They cover up how tired I look! Shall we go?"

"Let's," she said, "I'm starving."

Well for one thing, it turns out New York isn't just sunny in July. It is absolutely _baking_. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, and even though Starbucks was only a short walk away Emma could already feel the heat on her skin as it (hopefully) tanned. There were a few paparazzi following them but they more or less left them alone after they'd taken some snaps they wanted, leaving Emma and Bonnie free to stroll along Fifth Avenue, heads up to the skies as they admired the city in all its pleasant summer grandeur. She'd seen many places and beautiful sights in her time, but there were still very few that compared to New York City.

Starbucks was nearly empty when they got there. It was the first time she'd been in one without there being a queue, and it was probably because everyone was out and about enjoying the sun, and they were being very British and heading inside to get a _break _from it.

"What do you want?" Emma asked, fanning herself, "I'll go up and order."

"You sure? Erm…" Bonnie squinted at the boards above the counter. "I think I'll have a …chocolate Frappuccino, please, and a blueberry muffin."

"I have no idea how you manage to eat muffins in the morning… alright I won't be a minute."

"Okay, I'm just going to pop to the loo!" Bonnie called.

She left to join the queue, teeth nibbling on her lip as her eyes washed over the board; coffee, mocha, hot chocolate, latte, cappuccino, expresso… she decided on a cup of tea. She liked the simple things. She observed the delicious cakes and buns on display as she waited for the lady in front of her to order, and the door opened from somewhere behind her as another person came in. Her phone vibrated in her bag and she dug for it, smiling her secret smile of happiness when she'd saw that she had two unread messages from Jay, one wishing her luck for tonight, the other saying that he missed her.

She tapped the green phone and he picked up within three rings.

"Hello my gorgeous."

She stifled a laugh into her hand, unable to stop grinning, "What are you up to?"

"Just working, business as usual… I'm a bit bored to be honest with you. What about you darling? The big apple treating you well?"

"Tremendously well, thank you for asking. I'm in Starbucks at the moment, ordering some tea…"

"Fitting into the American culture then I see…"

"Oh I'm going all out, can't you tell…?"

He laughed softly and she beamed. "Good to hear. Oh by the way, I was looking at a holiday brochure last night, you fancy a weekend away?"

"What? You are such a romantic!" she gushed, "a weekend away sounds perfect. Where are you whisking me off to then, Prince Charming?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see where Bonnie was, still smiling as Jay spoke, and almost dropped the phone and died in all one second when she saw who was in the queue behind her. It was none other than the man she was trying most to avoid. Gary Oldman.

"… Croatia is said to be beautiful in October, my brother went with his girlfriend last year, but then there's the Caribbean, and how amazing would that…"

He was wearing a leather jacket, and a … she could have sobbed… a Paul Smith shirt underneath. It was _him_. His hair was longer than she'd remembered, and it fell around his eyes even when he pushed it back in the sinfully sexy way that he did. It was still the same dark brown, still with the sexy smattering of stubble and goatee. He was wearing black rimmed glasses that made him look even more intelligent and impossibly sexier. And his eyes... God, she couldn't get away from them. He was just so _sexy_, God help her- from his teeth to his fingers, his legs to his eyebrows, and it turned her on and pissed her off all in one heart stopping moment.

How many times had she seen his face in her dreams? She could draw that man from memory, with every laugh line. There was someone up in the sky moving humans around like pieces on a chess board and they both were moved to the same country, the same state, same city, and the same _shop_ as each other and at the _exact_ same time. Fuck fate, and all the unnecessary aggravation it brings. Fuck feelings. And fuck him, for looking so overwhelming and ceaselessly _perfect._ Was he even that perfect, or was it a part of her imagination? She didn't even know.

To others he wasn't. He didn't have the classically handsome looks of George Clooney with tan skin or waxy dark hair, nor did he have the abs of a Californian hunk; he was skinny and not all that tall for a man at five foot eleven, and obviously there was his age. He was knocking on forty, twenty years or so older than herself, and _still _she thought he was perfect.

And looking at him now… She wouldn't have given a shit if his hair was grey, or if he had a grizzly beard, or if he had gained ten stone. It was still Gary. She loved every bone of him.

"… obviously it's totally up to you though, I'll go for whatever you want to. What do you think Em?"

She didn't say anything.

"Em?"

Gary had realised it was her and seemed to straighten up and part his lips as he watched her. He looked as shocked as she did. In her head she had so much to say: what the fuck was he doing here? Why was he in the state of New York? Why was he in New York City, along fifth avenue? Why was he in the one of a hundred Starbucks she was in, standing a metre away from her? In her mouth though, there was nothing. She had to look down to the floor to hold back crying. Why did she love him? Why? She rose her head again and slowly lowered the phone from her ear and Jay's voice trickled away, till it was only a distant murmur in the air.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. He just stared. Stared, and swallowed, and breathed. Any moment now he was going to turn around and walk away, she was sure of it. A part of her even wanted him to. It would be the easiest route out of heart ache in her point of view, but for him, who knew? Did the fact that she loved him even get to him at all? Did he even remember the phone call where he was running from his wife? Did he even remember her? Maybe she was over thinking this. Maybe she should stop. She forced some words.

"What are you doing here?"

She thought she said it weakly, but it wasn't. It had slipped out accusingly, every syllable aggressive and _oh no not you _and Gary blinked several times, trying to collect himself. His eyes were hurt and as wet as hers, somehow, and it made everything harder.

"I had a costume fitting," he eventually said, quietly, "for _the Book of Eli_. I came with my-"

_Wife._ She could hardly bare to look at him. She had to leave.

His lips threatened to smile, like he'd read her thoughts.

"My mum. She's outside."

"Oh."

"You're here for the premiere?"

She nodded and hugged her arms, "Yes."

They looked at each other for a few moments, completely, achingly silent. Maybe they were trying to recall those times of laughter in the common room, or the time when they first met. _Dressing gowns._ How things had changed. It was a while before they realised, and she quickly bowed her head and he cleared his throat.

"Congratulations with Oxford, you've done brilliantly," he smiled slowly, teasingly, "I always knew you would."

She remembered the scribbled words, _'Oxford will beg for you love'_, on the back of the premiere ticket and felt her insides squirm and cheeks blush. She didn't have the heart or the energy to tell him she was deferring to next year. He was looking at her in the way he always had done, the way that she loved, with that smile of his that was pretty much sex on lips. She couldn't recall a moment where she had wanted to kiss him more. He was perfect.

"Thank you," she muttered.

Their eyes met again and she had a strong suspicion she was about to faint, and to avoid any more embarrassing situations she was now definitely, absolutely leaving and getting as far away from him as possible.

"Well… I should go. I hope you have a- a wonderful time in New York City, living your life…" she swallowed hard, avoiding all eye contact; she had no idea what she was saying but she was at the front of the queue so it didn't really matter, "… I hope the Book of … erm, whatever it was … does well for you. Bye..."

He shook his head, reaching out for her, "Em-"

She was on the brink of tears and she quickly turned around, dismissing him and ending all conversation and hoping above all else that he would walk out the door and out of her life forever. She couldn't do it anymore. Gary knew what she was thinking, and he stepped closer towards her, his chest against her back, his nose in her hair and his lips in her ear. "Nothing you can say can push me away from you…"

Almost predictably she pushed his hands off her, away, and stepped towards the front of the queue battling with herself not to cry… she was so close to; the hiccups were there, the quivering fingers and stinging eyes. She was happy as ever not two minutes ago, and she tried to replicate that as she faced the man behind the counter.

"Hi… can I have a blueberry muffin please, a chocolate fraccupino and a cup of tea…"

Gary stayed where he was, leaning against the counter and watching her from a distance. His eyes would trail down her body every so often, and she would blush inside out and feel a rush of hate for him all over again, even when her heart and being were loving him all the same.

"That's six dollars and seventy cent please mam."

She dug in her bag for her purse but Gary was quicker. He flicked open his wallet and handed over the money within seconds, and the waiter was sliding the receipt across and telling her it'll be 'ready in two minutes' before she could even object. She shook her head, panic rising in her stomach and slid the receipt back, "No, no I'm sorry, but he's not paying for it, can you-"

Gary swiftly cut her off, "I am. And can I have a cup of tea as well please?"

The waiter nodded and Gary dropped a kiss to her temple, his voice low and warm like honey. "Did I mention how utterly beautiful you look?"

Emma glared at him, too angry for words, and he rubbed a warm hand down her back, apparently unable to stop grinning. "Fucking relax, will you?"

"I will not _relax,_ you had no right!" she snapped, "This is not a date, I'm perfectly capable of affording-"

"I know you are, love-"

"_I'm not your love!_"

She was crying now, fully crying, and the waiter was trying to not notice, but she knew he had. Gary had too, and the grin fell from his face as she barged past him and out of the shop with one last whispered mutter of "just leave me alone." The sun attacked her as soon as she got out into the open air, but she ran on without a care in the world, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't know where she was running, but she knew she needed to get away and as far from him as possible. She hated this. She hated him and what he had done to her – what he had turned her into. She was meant to be over him now! He was meant to be nothing, nothing, but after four years he was still everything.

"Emma!"

He caught onto her hand and pulled her back, pulled her into the dirty and secluded alleyway of two shops and pulled her towards him and up against the wall, lips on hers before she could draw breath, kissing her before she even knew. She tried to push him back but he growled out "no" and kissed her harder, forcing her to wrap her arms around him to keep her balance. It wasn't till she started sobbing in want that she realised she was kissing him back. Their noses brushing, eyes closed and arms reaching for more of each other with every quick, desperate kiss, every rasped breath and hasty lip recapture. It wasn't at all surprising to know his lips felt perfect on her own, his tongue perfect with hers. Years of aching hurt at being apart and illicit sexual tension poured into that kiss, and soon she was running her hands over every bit of him, whimpering as he kissed and sucked and bit on her neck, loving him as he whispered into her ear words of adoration, spilled secrets of a weak man.

"Do you even know how much you mean to me? What you do to me every day?"

He looped one strong arm around her waist and buried a hand in her hair, every unspoken moment he filled by latching his lips to hers and kissing her like a man with seconds to live. Seconds. He picked her up in his arms easily and stumbled and hit the wall on the other side of the alley, completely engulfed in shadows. They were kissing with open mouths now, but slowly, the heat had drained in a moment and all that was left was gritty emotion. He was holding her to him; she could feel his heart beat like it was her own, could feel and hear his voice like it was from inside her own head. Forever was a long time but she would've given it to him in a blink.

And wait - didn't he say his mother was waiting outside?

A picture of Jay floated to mind and she felt her whole body lurch. What were they doing? What was _she_ doing? This was so wrong. So terribly wrong. This woman kissing this man, the love of her life he may be, but this wasn't her. She wasn't a cheater. She shoved him away in one rough movement, as if his touch burnt, and his back slammed against the opposite wall of the alley.

"I told you to leave me alone!" she shouted, then regretfully, "Oh shit, I have to go, I'm going..."

Gary's chest was rising and falling hard as he stared at her, eyes shining wet once more as he watched her leave. He could hardly believe it himself. The hurt there was so clear now, and once again she couldn't look at him. She turned and walked away - from him and from it all, it felt strangely claustrophobic to be back out on the street and blending in with the bustling crowd. It had got busier out of nowhere and Emma fought her way to the side of the street to hail a taxi. One pulled up instantly, the taxi driver yelling "get in!" and she frantically opened the door. Her need to get away was so great she could've thrown up, and when she felt a hand catch her wrist she thought she just might.

"Don't go, please. I need to talk to you. I need to..." his lovely voice broke, and he held onto her so tight it was hurting her, "I'm begging you, please don't go-"

His eyes were shining with tears and she knew hers were too.

"I have to! I love you and I shouldn't, don't you understand? I have a boyfriend, you have a _wife_, I can't be a part of your life and you can't be a part of mine! There's nothing else to say!" Sobs were wracking her body and she opened the door further and he shut it again furiously.

"Yes there fucking is!" the taxi man was shouting, but Gary didn't listen, he was zoned into everything her. "When am I going to see you again?"

He knew this was coming surely, and the longer she said nothing the more it dawned on him. "Give me your mobile number then, or I swear I'll-"

"No."

"_Why?!_"

"Because..." she pursed her lips and wiped her eyes, "it's – it's better this way, I told you before."

"Better for who? For you?" he was seething, unable to grasp bits of himself that were breaking away, he clenched his fists and tried not to yell. "What about me? Four years apart and I died _everyday _not seeing you! I can't do it again and you're making me! I can't do it, Em..." He slid his hand up to her cheek and slowly pushed back her hair, his eyes ever looking in hers. She saw adoration there, and it killed her. He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm falling for you-"

"No, you're not!" She was firm about that, and she tugged on the lapels of his leather jacket, smiling through the pain, "You love your wife okay? You belong with her. This is it for us."

It was a moment of insane bravery that she stood on her tip toes and met his lips once more, kissing him softly and firmly, whatever words he was yet to speak lost in the wind. He was surprised at first, but then his arms coiled around her and he was sighing into her, eyes closed and kissing her back agonisingly slowly as the breeze blew their hair. She was falling in love with the way he kissed her. Sometimes she could even feel him smile. Then she stopped, because she had to, because all good things come to an end, and he opened his eyes to her beautiful browns and saw her shaking her head and felt her whisper against his kissed lips, "Take care of yourself. Good bye."

"Em, I'm-!"

"No, _forget it_ Gary! Forget about me, this day and us and everything...!"

She pushed him back and sat down in the car, out of reach, and all he could do was shake his head, his eyes stinging with tears, his heart and body on the brink of breaking. "How can I forget you?" he croaked. Her eyes were wet and beautiful, and she shook her head again as she pulled on the door handle, mouthing 'I'm so sorry'.

"_Shit_, please! Don't do this...!"

The door shut with a snap, he reached for her but the taxi drove away. He dashed out into the road after the taxi, but another one came and nearly knocked him over, the horn honking in his ears. He staggered back to the pavement, furious at her, devastated by her, and that's where he was left; standing in a sea of people feeling more alone and broken than he had ever been. All he could do was watch her leave, and he was powerless to stop it. She watched him too, up until the last moment in the back of the car, how his eyes sought out hers, how his hands gripped his hair… there was her thinking that he'd be a different man, when it was her that had changed all along. A left turn at the traffic lights brought them to a new street, and she lost him once again. She wondered how many years would pass by between them now, and if maybe this time it really was good bye forever.

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><p><em>Any predictions for what happens next chapter, I'd LOVE to hear them! <em>Thanks for all your continued the support! (Stacy, thanks for your lovely reviews! I can see them but it doesn't allow me to reply!) p.s Em and Gary forever 3<em>_


	9. 1st September 2009

_As ever, thank you for the reviews. People have started writing my first name in them and I go all warm inside. Get that cup of tea, snuggle into a big woolly jumper and curl up by the fire. Here's chapter 9! _

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><p><strong>1st September 2009<strong>

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><p>She had walked into work that morning feeling like she was floating. She couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop the happiness that radiated from her. She was a student at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, and she was renting a lovely apartment there that overlooked a gorgeous white sand beach.<p>

She was leaving in one week!

Granted, it wasn't part of her life plan; it had turned her Oxford dreams to dust, interfered with Deathly Hallows filming, and had caused countless arguments with her boyfriend Jay, who was pissed about being so far away from her. But in her mind, they were little things. Often rash, on-the-whim decisions that seem crazy and frightening and a bad thing to do are exactly the thing that one should do to steer life back on track. Though, for her, there really was no determined track; if life had taught her anything in her short years it was that it was unpredictable, fate was a bastard and that she resented being in love.

Jay had dropped her off before he went to work with a kiss and a promise that he would pick her up that evening; he was taking her out to dinner, presumably somewhere fancy, to make up for being a prat in the past few weeks. She had no idea where they were going, but had been ordered to wear a nice dress and look 'as gorgeous as you always do'. The moment she saw Dan and Rupert they were bombarding her with cuddles and inquiring, as they headed to the common room, what was in the bag; they honestly were the nosiest boys she'd ever met.

"You got a dead body in there?" Rupert asked, trying to feel what was inside.

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes, "I thought the best place to dump it was the costume cupboard."

He grinned and slung an arm around her shoulders, "You, Emma bear, have been watching too much CSI."

"Oh, incidentally," Dan began, "did either of you see that episode-"

"No," Emma and Rupert said together.

He sighed dramatically and pushed open the door with his back, "you need to start watching something other than _Friends_. It's funny and everything but it was years ago now…"

Emma followed him, her eyebrows quirking, "er actually Dan, it's a timeless classic and even if it is ages after it finished as you say, it is still the most successful television show of all time."

"And I won't hear anything against Spongebob Squarepants," Rupert added with a fierce nod.

"I love Spongebob Squarepants!" Emma exclaimed, "I used to watch it religiously with my brother before school. He was a legendary piece of cheese."

She was squeezing his shoulders in excitement, and apparently rather painfully because he was laughing and telling her to calm down. All of a sudden Dan was shouting across the room and making her nearly fall over in fright, and Rupert caught her before she toppled over. They both stared at him.

"Dan – what?!

"_DAVID! GARY!_"

He dashed over to the other side of the common room, by the coffee machine and biscuits, where – she could hardly breathe, could hardly stand it to look, and yet she did and she couldn't tear her eyes away from them. Gary was there, standing before her like he'd been there every day for the past three years, making his usual coffee, eating his usual fuck loads of biscuits. She never thought she'd be seeing him so soon. Hot passionate kisses, neck suckles and sighs flashed in front of her eyes, and the snap of a taxi door cut her back to reality.

Whenever that man was out of her life again, and she finally, thankfully was moving on, it was like the air choked him back up, or steered him to a position where she would almost certainly bump into him again; Starbucks in New York, _New York_, one of the busiest cities on the planet, and now the common room of Leavesden Studios on this bright and beaming Saturday that was no different from any other morning; the same friendly faces were standing or sitting around in groups having their cuppa, the same cheery chatter filled the air, but for some sick and sorry reason that she could not comprehend, he just _happened_ to be in there too. And she hadn't the faintest idea why; she hadn't a scene to film with him and if she'd have been told he was due in today she would have steered clear of public places prone to gathering people together who she happened to be in inexpressibly in love with. She desperately wanted to know why he was here and at the same time desperately didn't want to care and desperately wanted him to fucking leave - more and more with every long second that traipsed by.

They hadn't spoken since that glorious summer day a little less than two months ago, when he had pushed her up against the wall of a dirty side street alleyway and kissed her like the world was falling around them. If that qualified as a kiss, then every kiss with Jay was chaste, their whole relationship, in a word, was chaste. Eighteen months of dating Jay and in one frantic minute Gary had ripped her open and exposed her to the rawest, most breath-hitching and erotic craving that had burned her insides and possessed her nights. In that moment she wanted to have sex with him then more than any man that had walked the earth, and if it was just sexual chemistry, then maybe she would have. But it was never just sex with Gary. It was never just 'just' with Gary. She had fallen in love with him when she was a tender teenager still at school, the thought of sex hadn't occurred to her, or no way near to the extent it did now. There had been times when she would lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, running her fingers over her lips and wondering if he kissed his wife like that, and times when she had had too much to drink with her friends and all she wanted to do was ring him up and cry in the dark when he said 'hello'. He had her emotionally and mentally.

His was the voice that whispered in her ear _'I knew you could do it' _when she had got through a bad day.

She was hurt, she had loved and lost and lied that was fine, but it was over now. She was on the mend. She honestly couldn't have made it clearer on that pavement along Fifth Avenue that they weren't to be in one another's lives, that he was to have nothing to do with her. Being dramatic meant she had got the closure she wanted, and yet here he was, wearing another white Paul Smith fucking shirt and as he laughed with the David's (Thewlis, Yates and Heyman), like the punch line to a joke at her expense. He was probably there for a valid reason out of his control, but still, she blamed him and held him responsible for turning up. She was furious and upset, and she wasn't as good at acting happy and dandy like he appeared to be when Dan suddenly held her hand and pulled her towards them.

"No, no, Dan its fine I'll speak to them later-"

"Don't be ridiculous, we'll just go and say hello-"

"Dan, really…"

"We'll only be there for a few minutes, what's the problem?"

They were getting close to them now, and all she could see was Gary's handsome hot eyes on her, and David Heyman grinning and beckoning them over. No doubt he had filled them in, in the fatherly way he tended to, of her recent activities- that she was off to Brown next week for the fall semester of her freshman year. Swallowing hard, she knew she had to put her foot down, and she pulled on Dan's arm to stop him. He turned to look at her, slightly irritated.

"What is it, Em?"

"I really don't have time for this-" she said, and gestured towards the door, "I have a costume fitting in ten minutes."

He frowned, and she was reminded of the time she refused to go with him to the Dark Knight premiere because she had to study for her exams, and just like he did then, with a smile he relented and all was forgiven, "It's alright, have fun. I'll catch up with you in a while."

She left for the door instantly and ended up heading straight for the costume department, arriving early for her appointment for the first time. She leant against the wall, relief breaking through her hard demeanour. She rather enjoyed costume fittings, though they did involve standing up for an hour being measured and adjusted to dresses and gowns, jackets and jeans, and trying on each item in four of five different colours. Engaging in some effective gossip with Jany, the long-time Potter costume designer and her adopted Auntie, she found out that Gary had come in to film a short scene with Dan, David, Geraldine and Adrian, as ghosts of Harry's memory just before he presented himself to Voldemort. It was presumably going to take a few days to shoot, which meant several more lunches spent cooped up her dressing room, hiding from him.

He made her feel… she shimmied into the dress she was supposed to be trying on… _claustrophobic. _

"Well, I'm very pleased with that!" Jany exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she surveyed Emma in the dark red dress.

It was what Hermione was to wear for Bill and Fleur's wedding and, viewing herself in the mirror now, she was thrilled that Hermione was getting wear such a lovely dress. Finally, after years of awfully itchy cardigans, Hermione had good taste.

"It's gorgeous; wow… you don't know how happy I am to get to wear this!" Emma gushed with a grin, stroking the material. Jany knew how long she'd had been waiting to wear a pretty something that she might actually wear herself, they'd had many discussions over it and this… this was the dress.

"I thought Hermione would opt for the red, as it makes her seem sexier and more desirable for Ron… but as you see," Jany gestured to the length, "it still falls to the knee to show she is a dignified woman…"

"Yes," Emma nodded, "yes exactly. It shows that she is just that: a grown woman, no longer a little girl but free to roam the world of adulthood…" she grinned and covered her hand over her mouth, so happy, "You've done a great job Jany I… ah, I love it."

Jany smiled and patted her fondly on the shoulder, "Then I'm delighted sweetheart."

A successful costume fitting out the way, she went the rest of the day worrying about the upcoming kiss with Rupert, which David deliberately hadn't told the two of them about until about an hour before shooting. Completely and utterly out of the blue, he knocked on her dressing room door where she, Bonnie and Evy had eaten lunch (steering clear of public places) and told her to get into her costume and head down to the Chamber of Secrets set. Knowing it was the news she had been dreading most, Bonnie and Evy had winked and wiggled their eyebrows at her through the whole announcement. Fumbling about with her clothes and being steered into the chair for in the hair and make-up department, she'd practically had a whole bucket of water soaked into her hair until droplets were trickling down her forehead, and her clothes were sopping wet.

"You get soaked by the fountain in the Chamber," Sandra explained to her upon noticing her expression, and Dan, standing behind her, roared with laughter.

She tried to glare him to a stop in the mirror, but she mucked up and started laughing too. "This is ridiculous!" she pouted.

"You do it for the job!" he crooned, and stuck his thumbs up at her. He started speaking to someone to his right, but as Sandra was fiddling with her hair, she couldn't turn to see who it was. "Emma has the kissing scene with Rupert, yeah, the moment they finally get together after years of waiting… it's meant to be romantic and full of passion…" she heard him sniggering.

She closed her eyes briefly, hoping that he wasn't talking to who she thought it was; the irony was too much to bear.

"Crikey, yes. The much anticipated kiss of Ronald and Hermione! Best of luck there Emma!"

David Thewlis stuck his head in view of the mirror, chortling, and she was so relieved that she started to laugh. "Oh, thank you! I'll need it!" he gave her a thumbs up and disappeared, leaving Emma left murmuring, "How can you passionately kiss someone in front of camera?" She had said it more to Sandra, who she often expressed her acting fears to, but Dan overheard and apparently someone else.

"Kissing passionately is easy when you love someone."

She whipped around so fast that the brush in Sandra's hand flew out of her hand and spun onto the floor, and she covered her hands over her eyes, embarrassed beyond belief. Gary picked it up and handed it to Sandra, grinning so much she was convinced he was about to laugh. She faced the mirror again, biting her lip and hating how he could make her look like a silly chit; it was the dressing gown incident all over again. He hadn't lay a finger on her and yet goosebumps had broken out over her skin. Did he have any idea the effect he had on her? She tried her best to ignore it, and ignore him.

Then he appeared in the mirror.

His long dark hair was mussed from playing Sirius all day and he was doing up the last buttons of his shirt, like he'd just got changed from his costume in about thirty seconds. His hair was longer than their last meeting, just brushing his shoulders, yet the stubble smattering his jaw and neck was the same, the twinkling air of amusement he carried about him was still the same. She noticed that Sirius's tattoos were still splayed across his chest, but his own black glasses were perched on his nose to sexily survey people, as he did now. His eyes met with hers and a soft smile grazed his lips at what he saw in them.

"So what I was saying was, passionate kissing, when you love someone, is easy."

She stared at him for a moment, how perfect he looked, how effortlessly sexy he was that it made her heart pound, her hands drop everything. How was it possible that his mere proximity to her aroused her? She clenched her thighs together and dropped her eyes to the make-up table; it was littered with all sorts of products, but she couldn't read any of their names, instead envisioning New York alleyways and leather jackets and whispered love and kissing with tongues. She shivered. That was what he was referring to wasn't it? The passionate kissing? The love?

_Oh God, she was turning into one of those girls. _She pulled herself together and answered. "I beg your pardon?"

He grinned knowingly, "I said, who is dear Hermione in love with?"

Her eyes narrowed and she jutted her chin out, "Anyone but Sirius Black, Gary."

"Is that so, _Em_?" His eyebrows shot up and he licked his lips, the old crooked grin back, the old common room banter alive and beating once more.

"That is so, _Gary_."

He was biting his lip in amusement and clearing his throat, "I think she has a soft spot for him. He definitely has one for her."

His voice oozed with confidence; the irony that maybe he was not referring to his character was getting a bit too much, and yet still he smirked.

"Yes she calls him Mr Black; they are obviously falling for each other," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Why not? He did look at her like he'd never seen anything quite like her."

"It's an interesting theory," she nodded, then started to laugh, "I can't believe you actually read it."

"I can't believe you're surprised," he remarked back; he quickly rubbed his chest, looking pained, "Heart … is … breaking."

"Shut up!" she was really laughing now, and he was chuckling like he was the big bad wolf. She'd missed this with him. It was like Sandra and Dan had melted away, and it was just the two of them again. The good old days.

"I do read Emma," he clarified, stepping closer to her.

"I'm glad Gary, so do I."

"What kind of books?" she quivered as he leant down and whispered in her ear. "_Naughty_ books?"

She swallowed, silently reeling but determined to win whatever they were competing for. "Sandra, is Gary distracting you from your work? Because he is certainly distracting me…"

She could hear his warm laugh against her ear and she lay her hand against his shoulder to push him. "Fuck off Gary."

Her smile told him that she didn't mean it; he stood up straight again, a gorgeous, pleased grin settled on his lips.

"So for this kiss," he said, running his hand through his hair. She couldn't stop looking at his hands. "You need to picture a passionate kiss you've had before and put those emotions into this kiss with Ron. Does anything spring to mind?"

She stared at him in the mirror and made to shake her head; he was stepping near the mark, and he must have known it.

Dan chipped in for her, oblivious to everything.

"Just imagine you're kissing Jay, Em, and I'm sure the sizzling passion will make for an Oscar winning scene."

Like she was being prodded awake from a deep sleep, she suddenly twisted her head and glared at her best friend incredulously, "Er, _excuse_ me Dan! Jay has nothing to do with it-!"

"To the front, Em, please," Sandra reminded her, and she faced the front again silently cursing the boy. _Anything but that Dan, you immature twit… _Gary knew she had a boyfriend, she had told him before she got in the taxi on their rather dramatic last meeting, but that didn't make it okay for Dan to bring it up. She could've smacked him and blamed it on character building; it would have been very Hermione like after all.

Gary was still looking at her in the mirror, though his eyes didn't carry the bright sparks that shone when he was conversing with her. Now they were glazed, the beautiful blue in them icy and… cold? She couldn't tell if he was angry or indifferent; he was never an open book like she was, but one thing was for sure, him standing there, still and silent; any hint of the warm smiles that had played deliciously on his lips before had gone.

"Who's Jay…?"

He kept watching her, and she was caught between frowning and bowing her head in shame; was he angry at her? Did he want her to say it?

"Her handsome hubby," Dan whispered to him, just loud enough that she could hear, "he's taking her out for dinner tonight to pop the question. The first Potter wedding ay, Em?"

She hit the roof. She leapt up and smacked him on the arm, exclaiming – much to his amusement - that she could speak for herself thank you very much, and when Sandra steered her firmly back to her seat once more he was laughing so much he was keeling over and panting for breath.

"He was a lovely gentleman when I met him actually," Sandra said to her, squeezing her shoulder as if to congratulate her on such a catch.

"He's been here?" Gary asked.

He was still looking at her.

"Only to pick me up, he is _not _proposing to me. It's not that serious, it's…"

She was caught between acknowledging her boyfriend and brushing him off as nothing. What she had ended up with was defensive rambling that made her feel guilty, and she didn't know why.

"Not serious? Em, you stay at his house most days of the week!" Dan yelped, wiping his eyes and composing himself calm again. He didn't wait for her to respond, instead winking at her, "he's a good chap though, he has my brotherly approval," he turned to Gary, "Why don't you stick around and meet him? See for yourself?"

Gary clenched his jaw and, after a pause, ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. "No, I'm sure he's perfect for our Emma." On her name he glanced at her, "Well, best of luck at Brown. Best of luck with … everything." He smiled briefly at her and then turned and dropped her completely, like she was just another female actress he had to share small talk with in dressing rooms.

She felt she'd been punched in the gut. It all happened so fast. She watched as he checked his watch and clapped Dan on the back, "I'm going now mate… my taxi's due soon. Be a darling and walk out with me would you…"

Dan stood up straight again and nodded, grinning easily, "Course I will. Good luck with the scene Em, and sorry about that Sandra…"

"Take care Sandra," Gary said, and left without sparing her another glance.

"Have a safe journey!" Sandra called back.

The door snapped shut behind them, and she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened._ 'Have a safe journey'_…

"Sandra, just then, what did you mean, 'safe journey'?" she swallowed hard, trying to regulate her breathing, to remain calm, "he's coming back tomorrow right? Gary? They haven't finished the scene?"

"Oh no they finished up today," Sandra said, leaning in to adjust her hair parting. "He's flying back to Los Angeles tonight. Why do you ask?"

Panic rose inside her and she bowed her head with the reason that she couldn't let her see the effect those words had on her. After all, she wasn't supposed to be crying about an older actor leaving when people were killed off and coming in and out of films all the time. Why should he be any different?

"Oh," she muttered, "no reason…"

The indifference killed her. She thought he would've said goodbye properly. And all he could say to her was _'Best of luck with… everything'. _

From then on, he wouldn't leave her alone for the rest of the day. Of course, he had left alone physically, but every other sense was all him and only him. She thought of him as she left to go filming, and when David instructed them through the kiss… _"Let Hermione take over, let go of Emma… you love this man, think of nothing else"_… she thought of him as Rupert – _Ron_, embraced her, and she thought of him and the rush of emotions he made her feel when they kissed against the wall, and put all of it, every breath and every press and every blink, everything she had, and poured it all into kissing Rupert. _Ron._ They got the scene in three takes, and the whooping praises made her feel worse. She even thought about him that night, when work was over for the day and Jay rolled up in his car and took her to a swanky restaurant in Mayfair. She thought about him as he helped remove her jacket, like a true gentleman, thought about him as she chewed her meal, every time she slid the fork into her mouth and with every sip of her champagne; she thought about him every moment of the long journey home, as she rested her head against the cold window and the rain trickled down it. She thought about nothing else.

On the outside, she was elsewhere; on the inside she was lost.

"Here we are," Jay said, switching the key in the ignition. He'd stopped the car right outside her house; no one was in and the lights were off. She hadn't mentioned it to him before. For some reason, she didn't want him to know she was sleeping alone tonight.

"Thank you," she began, breaking the silence, "I had a lovely time."

"Did you?" he asked, "You seemed a little pre-occupied."

He hadn't meant it in a rude way, she knew that, but more of a comment of genuine concern. He reached out her hand to stroke her cheek, and Emma shook her head and clutched onto his hand.

"No. I did really enjoy myself. It's been a long day, that's all." She looked down at their intertwined fingers and nodded. "And we'll be alright you know… when I'm at Brown and you're here. I'll be back every few weeks and it'll be Christmas before we know it."

"I know," he said softly, "I guess I was just worried that you'd find someone else."

She smiled then, and in the darkness of the car her teary eyes shone like the moon. "I won't find someone else, you don't need to worry about that."

Sometime later she was standing outside the gate to her house, watching him pull away in the car, grinning and laughing as he wound down the window and blew her a kiss; she waved goodbye to him as he drove away into the night, until the revs of the engine were lost in the wind and she was alone in the rain, with only the stars for company. She raised her chin to the sky, and let the heavens spit down on her, let the rain trickle down her cheeks, and let it soak through her dress. She wished that she'd told Jay it was because she'd already found someone that she wasn't going to find anyone else. She wished she'd had the courage to face Gary without looking in mirror reflections or hiding in dressing rooms. She wished for a lot of things. Stuck momentarily in a daze, she forced herself to unlock the gate into her house and walked up the path.

On the ground of the porch there was a letter, lying atop the matt instead of being delivered through the box. Just lying there, like a forgotten accident. She bent down to pick it up; there was no address on it and no recipient, no stamp of any kind that she could see. It must have arrived by hand. It was crisp and dry from rain and she turned it over in her hands and opened it. It was very short; one handwritten line of elegant scrawl.

'_You meant it when you said this is it for us. I understand now. I'll let go'_

I'll let go?

_I'll let go_

She was trembling.

She wanted to ask what the fuck that meant but she already knew. She read and reread it until the words were imprinted on her brain, until she had unconsciously memorised them and could imitate his every letter with her own hand. There was no denying who it was; it could've been no one else. Seventeen written words and she could see him scribbling them now, leaning on his car dashboard, accelerators squeaking as he drove to her house and dropped it on the floor. Sealed and done. She deserved it, in hindsight, for ignoring him and pushing him away every time he laid eyes on her these past near four years. She _had_ pushed him away. And today, when they were transported back to how they used to be, if only for a minute or two, she ended up pushing him away again. He told her countless times before to stop it, yelled at her to on that phone call they shared, but she still did. And now it was her hand that pushed him all the way home.

Did he run back to his car in a rush after he'd dropped the letter, or was it a restful stroll that took forever? Did it even matter? He had stripped her of everything and left her in a fragmented mess, holding the shards of her broken heart in his hands. He was in the very sky that she stood below, and she was lost in the world he soared above, and that was all she could say for him now. He understood now. He _understood, _and because of that suddenlyit wassomehow easy to walk out from her life. Just because he _understood._ Was that it? What if now, she didn't understand? He'd let go, cut her off, like the red button on the phone. He had let go and perhaps not from her… but from their love, from the thread of happiness she had been so helplessly hanging. How could she ever smile and act like she was okay after this?

From somewhere close behind her she heard the wet clonk of boots on the ground and the creak of the front gate as it opened, and then the road fell into quiet once more with the accompaniment of the rain. Her insides froze. Her mind that had been ceaselessly running at three hundred miles per hour skidded and shut down. Someone was behind her.

She clutched the letter and slowly turned around and her heels squelched on the ground; in those seconds of anticipation the heavens truly opened on Oxford. Rain pounded down on the cars and plummeted the cobbled pavements, trickled down windows and gushed out of house gutters, and standing soaking amongst it all, his hair plastered to his face, his clothes dark and sopping, was Gary. With one hand he held a suitcase and with the other he pushed back his soaking hair from his face, not caring that his shirt was see through, not caring about much. He simply stood there in the lights of the black cab behind him, gazing at her and looking every bit the man she had fallen in love with.

It was a long while before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was rough and perfect with emotion.

"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."

She bit down on her bottom lip, and let the tears she knew would come stream down her cheeks like the rain above them. She said nothing. Then anger swelled inside her.

"I told you about Jay in New York."

She saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and heard the shaky exhale that came not long after. For the first time, he seemed nervous, yet it all fell away when he looked at her. He couldn't look away, then.

"I know."

"Why are you here?" she said again.

His hands found his pockets. "I meant what I said in the letter, I'll let go of you. But before I leave, I want to kiss you... again."

The quiet sincerity in his voice devastated her, and the door was suddenly too far away, but still she stayed where she was, shaking her head. "This is utterly ridiculous."

"It's fucking ridiculous," he nodded, pushing his sopping hair back. "Look at me."

He was absolutely drenched.

She surveyed him for a moment more as her tears ran with the rain and made everything blurry. Still, there he was, standing there before her, with the rain pounding down. She ran out and joined him there in the outpour, the water squelching beneath her shoes, splattering down on her hair. Her throat clammed up when she touched him, but she managed the words. "This is the last time…"

His arms found her waist, and he was already nodding. "The last time."

She pushed his hair off of his face and he pushed hers, forehead to forehead, breath catching breath, his frozen fingers sliding to intertwine with hers. His lips were already dipping to tenderly taste her skin. She was crying so much, yet all the wetness and the rain and him seemed to blend into one lovely haze when he dragged his lips slowly along her jaw and met her lips.

When she kissed him she honestly couldn't say what was better, this moment or the last, or this moment and her whole life blended to one. Her lips ached for him in the short space between kisses, even as she ran her hands over his soaked shirt and into his hair. He tasted the same before, he felt the same beneath her fingertips. When she slipped her tongue into his mouth he groaned weakly for her and pulled her against him. Amongst the darkness and sheets of rain and wind they moulded into one warmth together.

She eventually broke away from him, but made no attempt to move away. He held her tight, one arm winding around her waist while the other curled around her throat, his thumb on her pulse point. He could feel her body working under him, the hesitance of every swallow she took, her wet and warm skin. It was a dangerous position, but she succumbed to him. Everything was so close. Every movement, however innocent, seemed exotic. With every intake of breath they moved closer to meet again for more kisses and catching of tongues, more of each other and as much as they could get, before they were seperated once more by reality. Reality was never as good as he was.

She rested her forehead against his and opened her eyes. Gary's were still closed.

"I can't pretend anymore that I'm not in love with you Em."

Her hand jumped to his cheek, fresh tears trickling. "I've told you we _can't_-"

"I know." There was a deep sadness in his voice that she tried to ignore, but couldn't.

"I'm sorry I'm being difficult, if you weren't married and... maybe..." she struggled with the words, "maybe it could have been... but I refuse to be… you know I'm... it's betrayal Gary, Jay, your wife…"

"I know, I know. Hey, shh, you don't have to say it," he ran his fingers through her hair and wiped his thumb softly over her tear stricken cheeks; his voice was trembling as much as his hands. "Don't cry anymore, love."

He lifted her chin and sought out her out to make her look at him, and as he did his nose brushed against hers. The touch was intimate and fleeting and her eyes jumped up and stopped dead on his. They were a salty ocean blue, and gazed into her own like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Never had she been so close to someone without kissing them before. Never had anyone looked at her the way he did just then.

"Forgive me for acting so selfishly," he mumbled, "I have no right. You aren't mine, are you Emma Watson?"

Emma Watson. Dark chocolate hair, soaking and stuck around her pale neck and shoulders, a nose he had always thought adorable, delicate cheekbones, lips that spoke such smart things and the tongue that formed them. He stood, still and silent, and drank her in with his eyes. He fucking ached to kiss every word that ever fell from her mouth, slowly, gently, angrily and possessively. In the end, all he could manage was a murmur of her name, an inquiry of an answer he already knew.

"I'm not yours, no."

It was a whisper stumbled from numb lips. He nodded and pushed his hair back once more, so she could see his wet eyes, see him open and emptied before her, see all of him for who he was. "Say it back and I promise I'll go. I'll be out of your life, I'll leave you in peace."

She buttoned her lips. "If you promise to stay well away from coffee shops."

He drew his thumb across her lips, a crooked grin and a bark of laughter from him and the moment was broken. It felt like a common room jest, but then with every second their smiles and grins slipped away and all was serious once more. A deal and a final, final goodbye. That was all that was left. It hurt so much now that they could barely stand to look at each other.

"Take care of yourself Em. I hope Brown works out well for you, and your career, and... to reiterate..." He bowed his head for the briefest of moments, but like he couldn't bear being away from her, he looked up again. "I really love you. I think I might always have. When you're happy I'm happy, so be sure to keep smiling." His voice was rough and teetering against breaking and his eyes were damp, shining with tears. "Now tell me and let me leave you."

She looked at him, hating herself for doing this to him, to both of them. _It's for the best._ Of course it was. Part of her didn't want to say it, so he would stay with her forever. But then she couldn't deny those words to him. Her fingers curled in the gaps of his hands, his stubble scratched her skin, her lips brushing his, but not kissing. She uttered them softly, "I love you."

A smile quirked his lips and then his lips were on hers again, kissing as they trembled, kissing and fiercely grabbing at each other. They were both trying to hold little pieces of themselves together, the seams of themselves that were slipping and snapping apart. His strong arms kept her safe as he lifted her off the ground in weak strength, in sad happiness. She wasn't the only one crying now. His heart was going black and blue inside of him. It was summer in New York, and he was watching her drive away again, except this time it was her left on the pavement. It felt like her toes had only just touched steady ground again when he was picking up his suitcase and leaving her with one last whisper of 'good luck at Brown'.

He left in the cab he arrived in.

* * *

><p><em>Not the best chapter I've ever written, but happy Christmas folks, hope 2014 is good for you all. I feel awful for leaving it on that note in this festive season, but think of it as an excuse to have one more glass of mulled wine! I'll be back soon! <em>


	10. 27th June 2010

_It's been the longest time, so to make up for my absence I've bought you my longest chapter yet! It also switches between two different perspectives to shake things up. Thank you folks and enjoy! _

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><p><strong>27th June 2010<strong>

* * *

><p>There's something about distance. It makes the heart swell, and now he cannot live for one moment without thinking about that girl. He holds possessiveness over her that he can't control and can't explain, and it has seeped into his bones. He knows she isn't his, but he also knows that there is a little part of her that is, and it's the little parts he silently clings to. It hurts, and all the more because he didn't sign up for this. He signed up for an acting job that offered a lot of money, one that was being shot in England and meant he could go home for a while. Any romantic feelings for a woman other than his wife Alex, was not going to happen, and then he met Emma. He clapped his eyes on this young thing, and there was an immediate soft spot - favouritism, maybe, but more than that. Just talking to her made his previous assumptions about life, about what was wrong and what was right, his inner morals slip away. She made him laugh, she pissed him off, she provoked damp eyes and intelligent, interesting conversation. He only had to watch her stand in front of him smiling unknowingly in Starbucks, beautiful, adorable and gorgeous all enveloped into one that he realised he might be, or already had, fallen in love with her. He liked that word fallen, because it suggested that it was involuntary.<p>

It was.

It also suggested that the height of which the person had fallen meant that it was impossible for them to climb back up to their previous location, and that was true too.

He saw her in a lot of women; long brown hair, cheekbones, damp, perfect lips and muddy eyes, but they weren't the true replicas but mere snippets. They weren't her. They reached the finger of the entire body that was her. And that was the day to day battle with his soul, his angry inward thoughts and explicit content of his bitter heart; and it was particularly difficult to shove away to ignorance when he shared a bed, a house, and his life with somebody else.

To get by, he hid Em away inside of him and he was good at keeping her there. It was only when he was alone, or when he saw her pictures of her in the fashion columns of Alex's magazines, that she nearly came out. Of course, there were other exceptions.

"You want another one, Gaz?"

Gary looked up to his dear friend and colleague Christopher Nolan, hovering by the bar with his wallet out. Though they had finished filming for The Dark Knight a long time ago the two men had made an agreement to go out for a drink every few months to keep up with each other's hectic lives. And they certainly were hectic. Chris was busy directing his latest film _Inception_, set for release later that year, and Gary was busy promoting _A Christmas Carol_, a British animation film he provided a voice over for with Jim Carrey and Colin Firth. He'd also finished filming for _the Book of Eli_ in Mexico, and had been flying back and forth to various destinations for weeks. Tonight was his first night back in Los Angeles; Alex was cooking dinner for them when he got home.

He grinned as an affirmative, "Yeah, go on then. Thanks mate."

Chris nodded and turned to the bar, and a second later his phone started ringing. He dug in his pocket for his phone and glanced at the screen. Alex.

"You alright love?"

"What time are you going to be home? I miss you."

He smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "Not long, I'm just having one more. I'll see you soon."

"No longer than an hour."

"An hour," he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, "alright."

"Good, see you soon. I love you."

He nodded, the smile slowly fading. "Yeah… you too. Bye."

He hung up first and was looking out the window when Chris came back with their drinks. He slid his root beer over to him, non-alcoholic. He had been sober for fourteen years. He watched Chris take a long sip of his lager.

"What's on your mind?"

"Too much. A toast?"

He raised his glass, "a toast!"

"To the woman of my heart, who is a spiteful bitch."

It was dark now, but still he sat in his car, one of the windows wound down as he blew smoke out of the window. He was acting like he was twenty eight again, chain smoking. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. Alex was expecting him home hours ago, but he'd turned off his phone. There was no concept of time now, nothing to go home for, nothing to wake up for… just him and his thoughts and the smoke escaping his lips.

Los Angeles. They call it the city of the fallen angels, and looking around the empty car park he was situated in, it spoke nothing else. Graffiti was splashed across the walls, all sorts of shit littered the dusty ground, and the street lamp in the corner flickered and died, swallowing him up in the darkness like a metaphor for his life.

'Spiteful bitch' was the term he had used in the toast. He felt guilt riding up in his chest, but then he'd look at the picture and guilt would burn into pain. He had one of those magazines of Alex's, rolled up and kicked under the seat of his car. He supposed he was salvaging it for nights like this one, where he could stare at her without worrying someone was watching, when he could love her all he wanted, with nothing to hide. She was holding lots of shopping bags, wearing a woolly jumper with a scarf wound her neck. She was laughing with two of her friends, who were wearing make-up. With her there was no make-up or hair scraped back; she was all natural and cheekbones, her bed-ridden hair wavy and whipping in the wind.

Longing for her now seeped from his eyes and onto the ripped pages. That was why she was a spiteful bitch – for doing this to him. And if she wasn't, it was still easier to blame her… the only woman he loved and could never have.

"Fuck this," he growled.

The cigarette hit the floor the second he withdrew another one. He spent a moment rummaging for his phone and, when he turned it on, it was flooded with missed texts and calls from Alex, some asking where he was, others asking why he wasn't answering his phone. He should have felt guilty for worrying his wife, but he didn't. He put his phone to his ear and the dial rang, rang, rang, and his head hit the back seat and he sighed with relief when it picked up on the other end.

"Dan?"

"Gary, hey! How are things?"

Even in his current state, he still smiled upon hearing the voice of the boy he watched grow up in a Hogwarts uniform. He was so proud of him. "Yeah, I'm not too bad thank you my boy, how are you keeping?"

"Yep, I'm great, just on holiday from filming; I'm really enjoying the rest, four glorious weeks off…"

"I can imagine," he nodded, then closed his eyes, "Do you mind if I ask a favour?"

"Anything Gary," his voice was enthusiastic, "is everything alright?"

* * *

><p>"It's a pretty disgusting habit you know," he said.<p>

"I know. So why do you do it?"

"It calms the nerves when I'm talking to beautiful women."

He took a long drag of his cigarette after he said it, a smirking smile pulling on the corners of his lips. He was really very attractive, and, as she glanced at his fitting chinos and desert boots, she noted he had a sense of fashion that was on point too. She's broken up with Jay. It's alright to flirt now, she thinks. She shouldn't feel bad. And it's not like she hadn't done more with other men when she was with Jay anyway. Well, there was no plural, it was just the one man. But now she's free from him, and she's free from men collectively for now, and it's incredibly endearing.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and laughed. "So what brings you to Brown young sir? And this college party imparticular?"

"Hmm, well I'm at Brown for the literature. And as for the party, that's purely because of the alcohol and of course the beautiful fair maidens of which you are undoubtedly crowned the top."

_There he goes again. _Maybe she should pull him up on his flirtatious lines, or give him some credit at least. She took a drag of her cigarette, smiling, "that's the second time you've called me beautiful in two minutes."

"I speak the truth," he grinned, "Do you want to kiss me?"

She raised her eyebrows and couldn't help her mouth hang open, albeit amusedly. "That was rather forward wasn't it?"

He grinned, "Well did it work?"

"I don't kiss everyone," she said, with a quirk of her eyebrows.

"Tell me then, who has had the pleasure of your lips?"

"There's been one or two."

"Were they any good?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Oh, you don't kiss and tell?"

"Exactly."

"Well nor do I, so I'm thinking we should swear to secrecy and pucker up."

She started laughing again and shook her head, but she wasn't sure if she actually wanted him to kiss her or not. He was very handsome; his dark hair was curly and long, and he played guitar in a band she had seen play at a college gig with her some of her friends, Jessica and Lara, whom she had met walking to class on her first day of the first semester and hit it off instantly. It was true, she had a weakness for men with musical abilities, and men that made her laugh, similarly to Hermione for Ron… similar to many girls. Who didn't like a man who could sing her a sweet song and tease a laugh into her throat when she was feeling gloomy and drizzly like London rain? This mysterious man was doing exactly that. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

"I'm Rafael by the way…" he said kindly, and held out his hand, "I'm of Spanish descent. You know we're universally famous for our lovemaking right?"

"I thought that was the French?" she asked, shaking his hand and washing her eyes over his face. He had the essence of the Spanish about him, come to think of it – the lightly tanned skin, the dark hair, strong eyebrows. She didn't know why she hadn't noticed it before.

He winked at her, "yes, indeed it is the French. But tell me Emma, what difference does a tiny border make?"

The night wore on, and she did eventually take on his offer and kissed him, under the street lamps as he walked her back to her apartment. He didn't stay the night, but he asked her to come to his gig the following evening and she gave him her number. She hadn't even given Gary that.

The venue of Rafael's gig was already packed when she arrived there with Jessica and Lara at nine o'clock the following night, and she could have sworn that when Rafael jumped bopping onto the stage around half an hour later with floppy hair and a waistcoat he was mentally knocking portions of the crowd aside to meet her eyes as he sang and gripped the microphone. His voice was gruff and sexy and, like last night, she was surprised at how good he was at the guitar; he had a charming flair of playful arrogance about him that reminded her of Gary. She didn't want to keep mentioning him, but at least she could say his name now, unlike the last three years. Rafael, cheeky Spaniard Rafael was not like him, she told herself, and before she could start rationally listing the differences between the two men Lily shouted in her ear if she wanted another drink.

"Oh yes please Lara, you absolute gem!" she squeezed her shoulder eagerly, and her dirty blonde haired friend grinned and wagged her eyebrows.

"Tequila?"

Jessica and Emma groaned in unison, Emma strongly. "I'm still recovering from last night! Did you _see_ me? I gave my number to-"

Lara tittered, "Oh please, if I haven't seen you topless yet you weren't drunk enough."

She had disappeared into the crowd tackling the bar before Emma could shout back no, please not tequila, _anything_ but tequila, and she and Jessica were laughing at how exactly they would react if they saw one another topless, after which Lara swiftly returned with amber liquid in shot glasses and a load of salt and lemons in her hand.

"You're a bad influence, you are," Emma huffed, quite jokingly and equally seriously, and Lara nodded towards Rafael.

"Yup, and he's sizzling hot. Drink up!"

Her last thought as she licked the salt and downed the tequila and shoved the lemon in her mouth and sucked, was of silent thanks that she didn't have class for another five days. She was in her third semester of her first year at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, and currently, the college was in exam period. For Emma and her friends exam period meant long, exhausting lengths of studying broken up by a few nights of fun, which sometimes (but not always) involved alcohol. It was proven to be the most effective way of revision without losing their sanity and over the past few months it had become a routine, and the three friends had come to swear by it.

Emma, for one, could easily have lost her sanity this year; Potter was in its last stretch of filming and her emotions were a tangled mess. She was terrified at what would come after, of what the unknown exactly meant. She didn't like darkness and she was effectively being thrown into it, after a glorious childhood and adolescence in the light, even when she knew the end would inevitably arrive one day. She had done other little things before, of course – a voice over of Princess Pea in _The Tales of Desperaux_, Pauline in the drama _Ballet Shoes_ on BBC, but for both occasions she had Potter to return to, she had Dan and Rupert, Bonnie, Evanna and David (Heyman) enveloping her in their arms, tugging on her Hogwarts uniform and welcoming her home afterwards. Now this was the end she had feared, and the afterwards was soon to be the beginning of the rest of her life. The very thought had plagued her nights and lingered on her days like stale smoke.

Unwashable.

She had already started to grow into herself. There were new faces now: her supportive and uplifting friends Jessica and Lara, whom on hot days she sunbathed with on the terrace roof of her apartment and many nights partied with until dawn, new lecturers and familiar passing faces on campus, and there was the promise of new romance in Rafael. He was still looking directly at her as his fingers strummed on his guitar, and Jessica and Lara giggled and wolf-whistled as they noticed the definite warm glow of her cheeks. She cast their teases away with a roll of her eyes and a laugh, but she was starting to feel self-conscious. Perhaps it was time for a few more drinks…

The night cascaded away, and as always was the case, she really didn't comprehend exactly how drunk she was until the girls stumbled to the bathroom, and she was mindlessly scrolling through her contacts on her phone as she sat on the toilet seat. She could barely read the names, and there were a flood of text messages with clumps of words that she couldn't string together to read or understand.

"I'm really drunk!" she blurted out, quite unnecessarily.

In the next cubicle she could hear heavy clonks of high heels on tiled floor and Jess's shrieks of laughter over the flush of the toilet. "Oh fuck, me too!"

"How much have we had?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm sure up for another!" came Lara's voice from outside. She was battling with the hand dryer, and the roars of it were making Emma's head throb. She licked her lips and concluded that she felt very thirsty indeed, and when she stood up, fixed her knickers, straightened her dress and stepped shakily from the door, she was nodding and clapping her hands.

"Let's go darling's," she squealed.

"So British!" she heard Jess shout.

Lara shushed her, "You heard the lady, are you buying?"

Emma frowned and cocked her hip, taking on the curious approach. "Hmm, I don't know, I'm rather skint on the money front at the moment…"

She could barely finish her sentence before the girls were giggling and pulling on her hands. It had become a running, inside joke between the three of them that Emma never had any money, because, on the contrary, much of the time she had too much. Most of the time it was spent on literature books, and they never let her hear the end of it.

In the heart of the club, Rafael had finished his set and approached her at a run as soon as she was out the bathroom; it reminded her of a six year old running out of school, his guitar swung over his shoulder acting as his bag, and his baggy beanie hat covering his wet curls. He was drenched with sweat, and his half open shirt stuck to his chest as he greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. She returned the hug, even as she heard Jess and Lara whooping drunkenly behind her. She half-heartedly shot them a scowling look. _Her friends_, she thought… _honestly_.

"How are you, my bonita senorita?" he charmed, "did you like my band?"

"I loved them, Rafael, I'm very impressed."

"Emma Watson is impressed by me? May I take a moment to engrave those words into my brain forever?"

She was laughing again, her hand to her mouth as she shook her head. "Oh, stop it!"

"Is my performance worthy of another kiss? I sang those words for you, you know."

"I gathered, seeing as you couldn't take your eyes of me." Her voice was teasing, sexy, and she was hugging him around the waist. Usually she wouldn't have been quite so forward, but of course, her current state of intoxication had thrown all her normal customs sideways. And Rafael liked it.

He was kissing her before she had chance to draw breath; he was as good as she remembered of the night before. Not too demanding, nor too gentle, but the right amount of pressure that she liked, the right amount of tongue. She closed her eyes and cut out the world, just for a second - cut out the giggling words of her friends and the chants of the crowd for an encore. She was transported to an alleyway, and then to the doorstep of her Oxford house, where she was cuddled up in strong arms and rubbed by stubbly cheeks, kissed by wise lips and loved by a man who had really _lived_. When he touched her she burnt hot, and when Rafael touched her now, she burnt cold.

"Gary, stop." She was gasping, "People will see…"

Rafael pulled away, his dark eyes flashing with confusion. "Who's Gary? I'm-"

"Oh, shit. No I know who you are Rafael," she muttered, covering her eyes. Her heart was thumping vigorously in her chest, and she was trying to will away the definite wetness of her eyes. "I've just had a bit too much to drink," she said, "that's all…"

Cold dread rushed over her body, filled her up and consumed her and all in silence. It made her feel worse that Rafael was so nice that he nodded, like it was all understood already. He was smiling and squeezing her arm soothingly, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"It's okay, Em, we all have exes."

_Em._

A sudden wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her; she swallowed nervously and fanned herself, sparing seconds where she could collect the parts of herself together that were cracking apart under a foreign strain. She thought perhaps she had to re-evaluate her past assumption of how alike the two men were. No one else called her that name, and beyond that, she despised any other man doing so, no matter who they were, however handsome, however musically capable he may or may not have been. She was in deep shit, and she only realised the full extent until now. _We all have exes…_

"Yes, we do," she said numbly.

Hers was called Jay. Gary was just… nothing.

"Can I get you a drink?" Rafael asked, and he was suddenly holding her hand. He seemed determined to keep the attention on him and the fun-loving atmosphere that dripped from the club walls and soaked its inhabitants in a drunken daze. Emma was infested in the daze, and so she nodded.

"That would be lovely."

Rafael left for the bar, and she was immediately pulled into the arms of her friends, who were dancing and swaying to the music of another band she should've known the name of, but didn't. They were as content as before; they were free to be moved by their bodies as they danced with pleasantly blank minds and happy hearts. They were laughing, and she was too, but it didn't come as naturally as it had before. The night of new faces had been infected by one from the past, and she couldn't shake him. She had never been able to shake him: the sixteen year old crush that had turned slowly and quickly into lustrous love of a twenty one year old college girl, and lasted even as she kissed other guys. It would have lasted if she had made love to them too, and it made her stomach lurch and her thoughts whirl and her heart plummet to the glassy wet floor of the club.

Rafael returned with drinks. She downed it before a witty comment could escape his mouth, and she felt the burn slide down the back of her throat and rush through and infest the organs of her delicate body. The club was alight with strobe lights and the jumping shadows of dark crowds with their arms in the air. She was invaded by kisses from lips that she had forgotten the owner of, and hung onto by arms she couldn't pin faces to. Everything was slipping into a blur and she was being tugged along with it; she wondered, in one hellish moment, if her drink had been spiked.

She was probably being dramatic.

Arms tangled up around her friends, they hurtled desperately for another bathroom trip.

* * *

><p>The wait was the worst, and suddenly he felt too hot in the confines of his car. He wrenched open the door, fresh air and cold lungs on his mind; he had to get out of to do something, anything, because if he didn't he would press the red phone and hang up like the weak man he had been accustomed to being recently. He slammed the car door behind him and hung his head to the black sky, waiting still, always waiting.<p>

She picked up on the last ring.

"Oh my goodness, Rafael, where are you? You were amazing and I want some more drink, my Spanish fiend, my Spanish sweaty guitarist, I want some more of your kisses." She was giggling.

He swallowed dryly, and there was a throbbing in his chest. He was sure that his eyes had dilated at the mere sound of her voice, and his blood rushed to a halt. She sounded just as he remembered: soft and sexily intelligent, but with slight flirtatious slurs in her words that pointed to a state of intoxication.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I'm not Spanish. How much have you had to drink, Em?"

"Who is this?"

Her voice was soft and decidedly sober in comparison to the last. There were undertones of panic in her spilled syllables, a paranoid silence in her presence maybe which told him she already knew the answer to her question.

"I think you know," he murmured.

There was a pause, a long, aching one and he could barely draw breathe. He could hear people in the background. Girls. The clonk of heavy heels stamping on tiled floor. A toilet flushing. The whirl of the hand dryer and shouts to borrow Jessica's mascara. She must have been on a night out, in the toilets of a dingy club full of drunk twenty-something's in Providence, Rhode Island. He wondered what she was wearing, but the visual of her in a dress that hugged all the right places made his chest throb more.

"I would say the traditional line 'it's your favourite old man', but I fear I've lost that position. Rafael seems like a charmer, whatever happened to Jay?" he inquired lightly.

He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he found himself doing it anyway. He would fill up the gaps of silence with words until she spoke and, beyond that, he would fill the gaps of his loneliness with Alex until Emma came back in his life. If that was horrible, he didn't notice it. He didn't notice anything but the blackness of the night and the lovely gasps of her breath on the other end.

"Gary?"

Her voice shook. He could almost imagine her eyebrows quirking and frowning with every second that past, as they always used to and, if he knew her at all, still did. He heard her swear and whisper something inaudible to her friends, or to herself, and he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know every word she'd ever spoken and every word she was yet to speak; he wanted to know her inner secrets, what kept her awake at night and what drifted her to sleep. He wanted to know everything.

"Why – why are you calling me?" she quietly panicked, "Are you okay?"

"How long has it been, love?"

She was silent, and for a moment he thought she had gone. And then she was back: "Why are you calling me?" she said again, "Why are you doing this to me? Why?"

"You want to know why?"

"Yes! Wait no - no, I don't. Just _stop_-"

"Stop what?" he hissed, and suddenly he was yelling, his voice echoing in the vastness of the car park he stood alone in. "Stop calling you? Stop thinking about you? Stop being in love with you? What do you want me to fucking stop? You've never clarified to me before, you've only told me to forget you, to - to unlove you, and you damn near killed me in the process! Do you understand? I c-can't go without you! So you tell me now, you tell me loud and clear so I fucking understand. What do you want me to stop?"

Gasps wracked his body; he waited for her to speak in the faint silence of the dark street that only the headlights of cars could illuminate. Six cars rushed past him in the road ahead of the car park, the wind of the wheels whipping his suit jacket and his hair back; on the seventh car, her gentleness cut through the roar of the roads. She calmed the storm inside of him.

"How – how did you get my number?" she demanded.

"I think you know that too."

"Why?" her voice was helpless, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry, "Actually don't answer that. What the fuck are you doing? What is this? You have no right to get my number off of my friend and call me in the middle of the night when I'm out with my friends having a good time, and I'm-" she was interrupted by a girl asking her what was going on, "wait, one moment," Emma was telling them, her words slurring, "Jess, leave it, I'm okay-!" her voice whispered to him again, "You agreed to leave me alone now … do that, please-"

His jaw clenched. "How much have you had to drink?"

"That isn't your concern; we are done Gary, now leave me _alone_-"

He nodded, even though inside he rejected the offer. "You've been pushing me away for years, love, I'm well used to it now – I can take it. I'll let you get back to Rafael, and you can pretend he makes you happy whilst all the while we'll both know that you'll be thinking about me, just like I think about you every day when I'm with my wife. Enjoy your evening Em."

With a sob, the line went dead. He had no intention of hanging up, or being hung up on, but he had been, and when he shoved his phone furiously back into his pocket he felt sick - sick in the stomach, sick in the head, and sick in his heart. He remembered reading a book about Shakespeare in drama school that stated that lovesickness was seen in genuine condition in Elizabethan England, where sufferers were said to have symptoms of excessive erotic desire, irrational thoughts and loss of self-control. Often it was caused through classed crossed lovers, when a rich person was in love with a servant and couldn't express it, or in his case, stripping aspects of fame, marriage and the twenty year age gap aside, it was forbidden love in its simplest form. His fingers trembled as they ruffled his hair and rubbed at his sore eyes; he was choked up from frustration. His throat was lumpy with all the unsaid things stuck there. He was lovesick. Most of all, he was so fucking weak.

His phone started vibrating a minute later.

"Gary Oldman," he croaked.

"And just so you know," Emma fiercely resumed, "I loved you - all of you, and it was exhausting! You broke my heart when I was sixteen and I've never been the same since you prick! You – you- absolute _arse!" _she snapped, then all venom drained away and only sadness was left. "I rang you back because I just wanted to tell you that it takes everything in me not to call you, and I wish I could run to you, after a shit day and feel you hold me and tell me it's going to okay, I hope you know that every time I don't I almost do… I almost do!"

Her friend must have grabbed the phone because there was aggressive, drunken shouting in his ear, and even when he held the phone at arms-length the words were still brutally clear. "WHOEVER THIS IS, LEAVE MY GIRLFRIEND ALONE BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING HER CRY AND ARE SPOILING HER BEAUTIFUL MAKE UP – SHE DOESN'T NEED YOU OR YOUR HEARTBREAKER TENDENCIES DOUCHE-"

"Lara, fuck, calm down!" Jess exclaimed, and prised the phone off of her. She offered it back to Emma, wiping her tear stricken cheeks as she did so. "Here you go. Let it off your chest."

She lifted the phone silently back to her ear, biting worriedly on her lips. It crackled with an exhale, and she heard him hiss a swear word. "Alright, I deserved that. Give the phone back to Emma please. I need to speak to her."

She found herself sobbing at the sound of his voice, like somehow in her genetic make-up it was set to provoke tears leak out of her eyes. She could hear the erratic thuds of that organ against her breasts. She struggled to catch breath to form words, least of all to make them coherent and sense worthy. Her throat was chugging and unconsciously swallowing too much, trying to cast away the lump that had sprung on her all too soon. He must have known it was her again, for he whispered softly, kissed words in her ears.

"I see that with every phone call I make to you, I make you upset. It isn't my intention, love, I just… I keep fucking up because the truth of the matter is that - that I can't let go of you and you've begged me to for years. Why? When are you going to fucking realise that we cannot ignore it any longer?"

He sounded so close; she could close her eyes and feel him nestled behind her, his arms around her abdomen as he murmured into the fallen wisps of her hair. _I can't let go of you... we cannot ignore it any longer..._

"I was just s-scared because I love you and there's Alex and I- I don't know what to do-" she was slurring, she was sure of it, "I've never known what to do… I've been so stupid and - and- I'm sorry I'm so difficult sometimes-"

"How much have you had to drink sweetheart?"

Her heels were stiff on the ground as she stumbled backwards until her back hit the cubicle door. She wanted the door to be him. She wanted everything to be him, really. Tears tickled her eyelashes and she had forgotten what he had said. He seemed to know.

"Emma, how much have you had to drink?"

"Tequila, too - too much tequila..."

"Where are you, love? Who are you with?"

"I'm really drunk," she was mumbling incoherently, "God, I feel sick. I have to go-"

"Oh no, no, no Em, you are not doing this to me!" he growled, "Tell me where you are now!"

His voice was firm, and she could hear him hurriedly looking for something, a snap of a car door, the click of the ignition. Was he in his car? Where was he going?

"Providence, I'm in Providence, Brown, near the beach-"

There was a rough roar of the engine. "You stay there Em," he was saying, "you hear me? I'm coming for you-"

There was a jolt in her stomach and she choked. Her vision was blurry, and everything was starting to slip sideways. She hung up the phone just as her body lurched. Jessica and Lara were suddenly there, behind her and rubbing her back, holding her hair and ushering her into the cubicle. She wasn't sure if they'd just arrived in the bathroom or she'd forgotten they were there. Jess was urging Lara to call for a taxi and from some far away place she heard her phone ring again, and then she plummeted into black.

* * *

><p><em>Drunken phone call confessions are my favourite. We've all been there... I'm currently writing up the next chapter whilst eating a tub of ice cream - cookie dough, so again I'm putting an invitation out there for you to come join me and tell me your theories for what happens next! Oh and, as you may have noticed, I don't think I've written a chapter that Emma doesn't weep hysterically in, so she is forbidden to shed a tear in the next chapter. Isn't this a joyous celebration?! (Gary and Em scenarios invade my dreams on a nightly basis so I'll be back before long). Thank you all and lots of love -S Xx<em>


	11. 28th June 2010

_AN: Are you eyes disbelieving you? Nope, they're not! I'm back, and with the longest chapter to date. Happy new year you lovely lot, and thank you so much for waiting. I love you._

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><p><strong>28th June 2010<strong>

* * *

><p><em>One, two… nine, ten…<em> she counted eleven bruises, yellowy brown, up and down her legs, thighs and arms from the night before. They were splayed on her bones like constellations across the galaxy, and each of them seared with its own little pain. She ran her tongue over her teeth, and remembered that she hadn't cleaned her teeth since she threw up in the ladies bathroom of the club some hours ago. She threw up in the taxi on the way home too, out the window, and it ran down the car door and probably hit the window screen of the driver behind. She might have thrown up whilst Lara and Jess put her to bed too, wrapping her up in a fluffy duvet as she whined like a little child. Everyone has those nights, famous or not. She was just like every other girl in college, partying too hard some weeks and too little the next – right?

She unravelled herself from her sheets, emerging like a messy angelic Goddess who had been taken ill for a few days. She heaved herself onto solid ground, on two solid feet. The soft carpet tickled her toes, and she wanted to sink into it completely – she'd rather be swallowed up by carpeting than look forward anyway: her mirror was in front of her, bearing too much of her body, revealing too much of a hung-over Emma Watson. Her hair was long and mussed, dropping messily past her breasts. She was wearing cherry red lace knickers, too sexy for four o'clock in the afternoon, too sexy for her crumbly state of mind. Her skin and very heart felt delicate, like it had been attacked the night before and now longed for bubble-wrap. Her limbs felt heavy like led, her head equally so. Her eyesight was blurry, like she was constantly trying to take a photograph out of the window of a moving vehicle. The zooming trees were the books on her shelves, the dresses in her wardrobe, and suddenly her cheek was hitting the floor.

An hour later she was sitting sluggishly on her kitchen counter, her hand stuffed in an open box of cereal as she absently flicked through television channels. Her bare legs swung with the sound of her heels banging against the kitchen cupboard in unison with the banging of her head. She tried to sip some milk, and threw up moments later. It was too milky, ironically – there was too much dairy in her mouth, and it was the same when she made a steaming cup of tea. Instead, she settled for a cold glass of orange juice, and at one point stuck her head in the fridge door for the sheer reason that it was soothing on her temples. She realised what she was doing a few seconds later, and shut the fridge door with an air of disgust. That, _surely,_ had to be a new low point reached in her twenty something years of life.

Her phone started buzzing against the marble of the kitchen counter and she jolted to alertness, put her glass of orange juice carefully down and reached for her mobile. Lara.

"Hello?"

"You're alive, thank fuck for that! How are you feeling hun?"

Emma collapsed on the sofa, groaning, "hmm. Would you mind if I delayed that answer for a few days? Currently I feel another wave of sickness coming on…"

"I bet you do, do you have even the faintest idea of how much you drank?" Lara's voice was incredulous, and a little too loud for her liking.

She winced and pulled the mobile further from her ear. "No, and please God do not tell me."

"Okay, I'll spare you for now. I wouldn't even know the exact number anyway, to be totally honest, but I'll say one thing: you were thirsty; very, very thirsty," she rolled her eyes at her friend laughing at her from the other end, and waited for her to sober up, "okay I'm sorry for that brief and very inconsiderate laughter, there – I swear I'm done! Oh! Have you spoken to that guy that called you last night? You seemed pretty cut up about it."

Emma was yawning and frowning at the same time. She was distracted by the television, where an advert was running about a new female razor that left the woman's legs as shiny as glass. Emma found herself wanting to throw something at the TV. Legs rarely looked like that - the media were bull-shitters, and no less than that.

"Emma?"

"Hmm, sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you." She rubbed warily at her eyes.

Lara laughed all too knowingly. "I said have you spoken to that guy from last night?"

"You mean Rafael?"

"If I did mean Rafael wouldn't I say Rafael? No… I don't know who the guy was; you were really secretive about it. After he called you though, you – you were in bits."

"He called me? Are you sure this was me? Goodness, how drunk was I?" she thumped her head against the armrest, glaring at the ceiling, "I don't remember this at _all_…" her head hurt from merely attempting to remember.

"Yep, you were crying – a drunk, sobbing and generally hysterical Emma. Jess and I have never seen you like that, are you okay now? We were going to call round tonight and check up on you…"

"No it's okay thank you Lara, I'm fine just really, just dreadfully hung-over," she let out a long suffering sigh, "I'm going to have a shower and try and study."

Lara wolf-whistled, "That's will-power. I commend you. I'll see you tomorrow then. Take aspirin babe."

"Yes, yep, I will. Thanks for being a diamond of a friend – tell Jess too. You're both sweeties. I'll speak to you later; love you lots."

Emma had hung up before Lara had the chance to reply; her head was throbbing from technology being too close to her ear and from hearing the things that her drunk self did. Was it really her? Possibly, potentially, perhaps not? Remembering drunken antics from the night before the morning after was like fishing from a wishing well: sometimes she felt a tug on her line, brief and vague memories of her surroundings, the colour of the walls, recalling Jess applying mascara in the mirror - but pin-pointing what happened specifically was impossible. The wishing well, like her memory, was a smoky abyss of the unknown. Maybe there was something, some hard evidence, that would make things clearer...

Nibbling nervously on her lips, she swiped to unlock her phone again. She felt wormy uneasiness crawling inside her, something knawing at her fingertips and jangling at her nerves. She clicked on her recent calls. She scrolled down. There were three, four, five, six missed calls bleached in red from an unrecognised number. Weirdly, she had answered two of them.

She was suddenly shivering, even though the evening sun was still pouring through her open windows and casting bright light over her kitchen tiles. She could see the white reflections on her fridge door, mingling with letter magnets and faded pictures of the golden trio pulling faces at the camera in 2004. It was probably hot outside, the air thick with waxy orange evening heat and yet, here she was - teeth and jaw jittering on its hinges. It didn't make sense. She, in her bones, didn't make sense. Standing up slowly from the sofa she strolled over to the windows and peered out. Orange was spread through the sky, like a blunt knife had spread marmalade over the clouds.

Impulse startled her, and her feet carried her dashing to her bedroom. She lunged for the first warm sweater she clapped her eyes on and threw it scrambling over her head, and for the second time that day she tumbled to the floor. Standing up with an agitated huff, she adjusted the sleeves, fixed her messy hair and lazily ran a make-up wipe over her face. It was only afterwards, when she was striding quickly for the balcony and throwing open the door that she realised it was a purple sweater with the words 'PoT heAD' stamped across it – a gift from Rupert on her nineteenth birthday. Oh, how funny he thought he was.

On the balcony she sat, moments later, dipping her head back in a squishy chair with her naked limbs sprawled and stretched out around her. She could hear the sounds of the waves crashing on the sand, the soothing undertones from the beach that lay hidden just beyond the trees at the back of her apartment. She loved these days alone; even hung-over days where she crawled on the floor like a cave girl, licked her wounds and took aspirin to soothe her beating head. She fell asleep peacefully, her mind and dwellings pleasantly blank. Three minutes later, (and in reality three hours later) she blinked awake to shadowy trees and a night in complete darkness. She had woken up and the world had fallen asleep. Except one.

"Do you always leave the door open?"

She jumped so quickly her foot smacked against the coffee table, and she cried out in pain.

"Fuck, you fucker!" she blurted, "Who the fuck are you?"

She fell back against her chair, pulling her foot and sore toes up towards her body, clenching them with her fingers. She could feel her blood thumping hot under her skin. _That fucking hurt._ She immediately regretted her foul mouth now. There was something- _someone _with her, in her apartment. She squinted across at the person who had spoken to her, and sincerely hoped above all else that it wasn't her agent or her mother.

She could see nothing. Instead she heard movement in the chair opposite and to the left of her, shortly followed by a deep chuckle.

"Come here, love," said the voice. "What have you done?"

It was a man's voice, and she knew it. She knew it in an instant.

She tried to stand up, but the man had already pulled his chair forward with a gentle scrape and set her foot on his leg. His hands felt big and warm on her skin… she sensed also a familiarity about his fingers that unnerved her, trapped her in a situation in which she already knew the ending. Her heart wanted to whimper and cry out, ask permission from it's owner to hide, but her eyes held only confusion and disbelief. It wasn't him. It _wasn't_ him.

She must have tensed up, for he patted her ankle and ran his fingers soothingly over her aching sole.

"Relax."

She could only see his outline; the night was giving away none of its secrets. Sometimes, when he moved, the silvery light of the moon leaked over his hair and she could see his long dark locks hanging over his eyes. She could see the faint rim of his black _ray-ban_ glasses. Fancy fuck. No, this _wasn't_ him, she told herself, and she nibbled on her lips for something to do. She could convince herself it was Rafael if she liked, though Rafael didn't have that long, charming London accent which was soft and rough in equal measure. Rafael didn't say his s's silky and smooth, nor did his r's roll off his tongue hot, like melting toffee. Rafael's hair wasn't as silky as this man's, nor did the Spaniards hands, upon touching her, feel as homely on her body as these hands did now. This set of hands moulded her, and she thought of clay on a spinning wheel, of leather, of Paul Smith shirts and smoky rooms. They were coarse and a little rough around the fingertips, but perfect.

"Look at you hurting yourself in my company like the hot chocolate spillage in 2003," he murmured lowly. There was amusement teasing every syllable. "Well it's not bleeding. It will probably just be sore for a while, but you're a strong girl aren't you?"

She felt his lips brush against her toes, and then he kissed the spot where she hurt the most. The pain seemed to shut off in an instant, like a parent shutting the bedroom door on their sleeping child, or a heavy boot crunching down on a fallen leaf in autumn. There was a clear distinction in before and after, and after the kiss she hurt no more. There was something strange about that. She felt her eyes prickle.

"What are you doing here," she whispered, and she wasn't sure if it was a question, and she wasn't sure if that was all she had to say. Part of her wanted to swear at him and kick him with the foot that he'd just loved, whilst the other part wanted to sob _you're here!_ _What took you so long?_

"Is it you?" she swallowed hard when he didn't answer, "It is you, right?"

"Who do you want me to be, Em?"

She trembled. It was the same deep voice… the very same. How many times had that voice seeped through into her nightly dreams? How many times had it invaded, unwelcomingly, her daily thoughts? His voice stopped the traffic inside her, held her emotions hostage and was to blame for all the other things she fucked up. She wanted to turn and run, but there was nowhere to go. This was her fucking house.

_Claustrophobia. _

She pushed his hands off of her and stood up, feeling something rise within her. The glass of orange juice she had rested on the coffee table hours ago fell and shattered over the floor. Neither of them moved to pick it up; the blackness hid the broken shards and pieces, but they both knew they were there, and the irony of the metaphor made her ache in parts of her she didn't realise she had. It was almost funny. She wanted to know if he'd noticed it too, but she knew he had. Of course he had. He had always known everything, hadn't he? And about her most of all.

He remained sitting down, as if he expected her to break something eventually. She was accustomed to breaking things. If it was who she knew it was, then he'd know that she herself was already broken.

"Stop fucking me around and tell me!" she huffed, "Who are you?"

She was breathing hard, and she was all too aware of it.

"Tell me who you are." A demanding tone.

There were more seconds of silence, seconds that slipped by as he sat, unspeaking and as frozen as a statue. There was complete stillness. The relentless waves hitting watery and hard against the shore was the only sound that came between them. The world, and everything in it, had been muted to nothing more than those waves, that wind, and the whispering of the trees ahead of them. Then there was her and him.

"Who are you?" she said again, and then yelled, "WHO ARE YOU? WHO - ARE - YOU? _Tell me-!_"

Finally he stood up and smacked the light. A few flickers later and the balcony illuminated with a weak yellowy candlelight. Her eyes fell on the source of it all, the fairy lights that her mother had bought her as a moving-in present, twinkling in their place, and then onto him, standing before her in the flesh, open to her and in front of it all.

She needn't have mentioned his name. She had known all along.

"Hello, love."

His shirt was navy this time. She was sure that if she ran her hands over it, it would be soft. It would smell delicious, like him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the leather jacket of his slung over the arm of his chair, discarded in the warmth of this ten o'clock. She could almost see beyond his skin and watch the nerves running around his tangling veins like little raging bullets. He gazed at her from behind his black rimmed Ray-Ban glasses, as he always did. His hair was long, dark and thick. The same... always the same. His stubbly goatee and neck was so sexy to her that it made her catch her breath, and struggle to get it back. She could see his throat jump as he swallowed, and he blinked and cast his eyes away, looking towards the sea. He was here, in her apartment, in the flesh.

She drank him in.

"You can tell me to leave," he said quietly. "I know how this must look."

Her mouth seemed to open and close without any real sound. She hoped he wasn't watching her struggle so, but of course he was. He opened parts of her that no one else had, seeing her hopeless and speechless was just another thing on the long list he had stripped of her. She shook her head numbly and found her voice, several attempts later.

"How does it look?"

He took a step closer, and his Paul Smith cotton sheathed shirt was catching to hers, their eyes fixated on each other unfailingly. She had never quite been able to get over how blue his eyes were; she was reminded of the sky in the height of summer, or what she imagined the surface of the ocean would look like underwater, as the sun beat down on it. They were so blue. She loved them inexpressibly.

It had been a long time, yes, but she couldn't justify the length of her stares with that pathetic excuse. They simply couldn't prise their eyes from one another. There was more to it, more that she felt, more under the surface with him than she could ever understand, and she saw it all in his eyes in that moment. He was lay open before her, vulnerable for the first time. She could see it in the loose clench of his fists, feel it in the tension of his forearms. If it was any one else from her past in her apartment, she would have hugged them - with Gary, she forced herself not to.

"I wanted to see how you are," he said, and his voice was croaky from lack of use. How long had he been sitting there, watching her sleep? It was a breach of her privacy, and yet some part of her didn't seem to mind.

He felt the need to elaborate, and she wondered how long he'd been rehearsing this speech.

"I wanted to check you were alright," he began, and ran a hand through his long hair, mussing it gorgeously. "You scared the shit out of me last night when you hung up on the phone. I - I sat in my car in a deserted parking lot and just kept having these - these thoughts; you'd fallen into a fucking coma, or you had died, and I couldn't seem to get them out of my head. I was going mad." He stared at her for longer than he had planned to, she felt sure, for the words fell away in his mouth and he resulted to shrugging weakly. "I had to see you."

"I'm – I'm sorry you had to go through that, but…" she nearly rolled her eyes at him, "I'm _okay _Gary_._ I'm fine actually; I've been in the house all day, drinking orange juice and being lazy."

He continued to stare at her, and she knew he wasn't convinced. There was a muscle twitching in his neck. She battled on.

"To say that you had to see me when I'd just hung up the phone in a drunken mess is..." she rambled off, on the brink of a tangent, then found her way again, her eyes becoming wetter every moment she looked at him. "Well it's not enough. Quite frankly it seems barbaric and reckless of you."

"Define reckless," he growled.

"You are an award winning director and actor, and just as intelligent as me and if not more!" she exclaimed hysterically, "you don't need a definition, you know exactly what it means! Rash behaviour, not taking into consideration the consequences, passionate and out of control-"

"Then that is fucking me Emma!" he surged forward towards her, his eyes alive and jumping, electric energy in his every fibre. "I am all of those things when you are concerned! The recklessness that stems from my body and brain is because _you_ are rooted in my body and fucking brain! You are rooted in everything I am! EVERYTHING-"

She slapped her hands to her forehead, "I've told you-!"

"Told me what?" he yelled, What have you told me?"

"I - I-" she glared at him, furiously and weakly all at once, hating him for making her repeat these words again. "I told you repeatedly that we _cannot_ do this and I'm _fine_-_!_"

"Oh, you're fine. You're fine," he agreed whole-heartedly, his eyes darkening. She could tell he was pissed off; his whole body spoke of it. "You always say you're fine, Em, and you can trick the fucking press, your family and your friends like a master of your field, but unfortunately you can't trick me." His voice dropped lower, quieter, "Do you know how much I worry about you? Do you have any idea?"

She swallowed hard at the lump of emotion choking her throat. She couldn't seal boards up over her heart to protect her from him. He ripped the wooden planks away with his eyes and occupied the abandoned house of her fucking soul, and tangled her up every day with tears and heartache. She was a helpless case now, and she had long accepted it, but it was because of _him_.

"It's not your job to check up on me, Gary." Her voice was quiet, almost sorry. "You aren't my protector. We can't do this, we _can't_-"

How many times had she said those words to him over the years? And always, all the time, he only half-believed her and now she knew the reason why: because she only half-believed herself.

His boots clinked hard on the concrete and he stepped closer towards her once more, their chests touching. He looked at her achingly, longingly. "If we can't do this, Em, then why did you tell me you loved me last night?"

His eyes washed over her achingly slowly, and for a moment she would have met them, if she had the courage to. Instead, a horrifying thought gripped her in a hold that refused to loosen: here she was, standing in front of this man of all men wearing nothing but a baggy sweater and a pair of red lace knickers. At another point in time she wouldn't have cared, but now it made everything worse. Where she should have felt cold, she felt hot. She glanced up at him, at the burning hotness in his eyes and the heat of his breath on her neck; he knew the very thoughts criss-crossing her brain before she did herself.

"I'm going to put some clothes on-"

She brushed past him to go inside, and he let her go.

* * *

><p>She didn't relax until she heard the hard and sure sound of her door slamming behind her and, even then, her body was crumbling beneath itself at his words. Everything was so surreal; she felt like her mind was playing tricks on her. If she walked outside her door in ten minutes time she would find the balcony lights off, her house empty and untouched wouldn't she? Running stressful hands through her hair, she flexed her fingers and reached for the first pair of black denim jeans she could find. She didn't care enough to check her appearance in the mirror; if she looked unattractive then maybe it was an incentive for him to leave her apartment and never return<em>. Never return<em>. Did she want that? She didn't know. She didn't know anything – except that the man apparently outside years ago started a fire within her that was still burning now, endlessly.

She threw open her bedroom door and, with a new and admiral confidence, marched towards the balcony with the intention of telling him that due to difficult and unfortunate circumstances which she could not announce, he had to leave. What a grand and victorious stroke of feminism that would be. She caught sight of him leaning against the balcony wall, his eyes staring ahead of him towards the all-hearing, unseeing trees. His hair was blowing in the breeze and the indents of his shoulder blades pressed against his shirt. She felt her insides wobble and her speed reduced, as if the very sight of him was the cure for all fiery anger and venom to die in her veins.

Feeling exhausted and defeated, she slid open the door.

He didn't turn around. "Do you mind if I light a cigarette?" His spoke to the salty air.

"If you let me have one too, then…" she nodded.

He was already reaching for his leather jacket, feeling the pockets with his sure, firm hands. Hearing what she had just said and clutching the pack in his hands, he gazed up at her. His eyes were damp and gleaming, and there was a slow and sexy grin kissing his lips. "You don't smoke, love."

For some reason and somehow she seemed helplessly unable to give her eyes a rest from his face; she wanted to punched him hard all over his body, and then kiss him harder. She relented to pout her lips for him, silent but determined. "I don't...as always you're right about me," she said, her eyes twinkling, "But I'd like one now, if you so please…"

_I need a fucking cigarette._

He put a cigarette to his lips and lit it swiftly, inhaling deeply. Wispy smoke filled the air around him, and she was reminded of the night before - a dingy club, dancing with nameless shadowy figures. Smoke under the strobe lights. She pursed her lips and his eyes were on her again, gazing at her like he couldn't help himself.

"I'm not going to allow you to hurt yourself because of me," he said, and it was followed by a smirk.

How funny he was. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, almost laughing; "You're five years too late for that."

He smiled and nodded, but didn't say anything. One of his hands still held his jacket. She watched as he shrugged it on, the cigarette dangling loosely in his lips. She was frowning before she could stop herself. It wasn't cold.

"Where are you going?"

She stepped closer to him, half reaching for his hand.

"I'm going to go," he said, and he avoided her eyes.

"No."

Still, he continued to shrug on his jacket and fix his collar. Still, he continued to avoid her eyes like the plague, like the very moment he caught them he wouldn't be able to leave. She wasn't ready for him to leave, just as she wasn't ready for him to arrive. She wasn't ready for the years to slip by so fast, and for them to argue like they always did. She wasn't ready to tell him all the things she loved about him, from the freckle on his temple to the curve of his lips.

"You can't go!"

Her fingers flexed to grab his hand, out of impulse, but she hesitated. She felt cold all over. Cold, and not from the wind.

"Why should I stay?" he demanded, and her insides clenched. "I want you more than I've wanted anything, love, but you're never going to stop pushing me away are you?"

His eyes locked heatedly into hers, and what she saw in them shook her off balance. She thought maybe he was speaking to her with his eyes instead of his mouth; he did that more than anyone she'd ever met - the language of him, who he was, was hidden deep within his smoky iris's than his tongue. When he felt things, he felt it with his entire body. It was one of the many things she loved about him.

"You c-can't go," she said again, and it was all she could manage. She felt nauseous at the thought of him leaving her to brave the world alone, nauseous that he could so casually turn up at her apartment for twenty minutes and fuck off for twenty years. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't manage a tear. She was spent.

"Tell me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't, Em, because I'm really dying to know."

"Because..." she breathed, and she knew she would have to give him more than that.

Now she held his hand, and she realised, in that moment, that she would do anything to make him stay, even if it meant doing stupid things like telling him the one truth that she had kept from herself for years- hidden in the back of her wardrobe, seeped deep within the springs of her childhood bed. Closing her eyes, she could still remember the chord of the telephone that night.

"I am, you're right Gary - fine. I'm in love with you," she whispered.

His lips parted, and he stared at her. His eyebrows quirked, his chest rose and fall, and a second later he lips twitched into one of his charmingly handsome grins. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her slim frame. She shuffled into his warmth, craving it, like nothing she ever had. His lips kissed her cheeks, her forehead, nose and neck, every inch of salty skin he could reach before kissing her lips. His hands, too, slid over the spongy material of her sweater and slipped under to feel her naked skin and she could feel the presence of finger. Instinctively, she curled her arms around his shoulders and he whispered _"it's always been you."_ An amused smile played on her lips, and she breathed in the cinnamon, leathery scent she had long associated with him.

He was here, in her arms, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stop stumbling over more 'I love you's'.

* * *

><p><em>AN: It's 8:21am in England. I've been writing this all night, and I have uni in a matter of hours -(if you need a definition, this is love). Oh! If you think this is the end, darling do not be fooled. This is just a hint that there will soon be sex. And lots of it. I hope you're ready. Until next time lovers! :)<em>


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